


Bury the Dream

by meanoldauthor



Series: Mean Old Lady [20]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Don't nobody stay dead in fanfic, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Independent New Vegas (Fallout), Medical Trauma, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Reunions, Strained Relationships, legion focus, longfic, mild drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 01:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 112,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13649028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanoldauthor/pseuds/meanoldauthor
Summary: Almost a year after New Vegas became an independent force in the wasteland, the Courier's work is far from over.Though the NCR has kept its distance, only extending its influence through trade and politicking, the remains of the Legion to the east have spent long enough nursing grudges and licking wounds. Though fractured along their own lines, a new leader has risen among them, sworn not only to bring New Vegas to its knees, but to also raze the renegade Temple in Flagstaff.Faced not only with the threat of war coming to the still-fragile Mojave, but the loss of a potential ally, Adal must act. Facing a new Legion not as a mere courier, but the leader of an independent nation, there is more on the line than she had ever feared. It will take all she has, and all she has learned, to face the East...and all that has been left behind there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm assuming you've read through most if not all of Adal's series to this point, if you're reading this right now; but the internet is a strange place and this might be your first Adal fic, who knows.
> 
> So recommended reading for newcomers, or those who want to brush up:  
> For characters who will have some impact on this story: [Prisoner Mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5173934), [Honesty, Industry, Prudence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7051234), [Bella Gerant Alii](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14099352)  
> For a bit of lead-up on the Ulysses/Courier relationship: [ What Will Become History](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7043386), [If You Die, I'll Kill You](http://https://archiveofourown.org/works/7043554)  
> For backstory on Adal and some cultural context on the Walker: [Ulysses Logs, chapters 3 and 4](), [331 Jester (Random Encounter)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13464420), [Crossroads](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12242481) ( **warning** for explicit noncon in this one, chapters are tagged as needed)

“You wanna go for a walk?”

Ulysses looked at her over his book. She had set hers on her knee, fidgeting with a roll of paper and a tin of tobacco shreds. “To where? Divide has little draw to it.”

Adal shrugged, trying to even out the heap of tobacco in the paper. “Had a thought to go east, maybe. Do some scouting.”

“Scouting.”

Shrug.

“For what?”

“Hell, I dunno what's over there. Be worth a look.” She started the roll, but one end was too loose. Adal grumbled and started over. “S’why it needs scouting.”

“Could send your machines.”

“You wanna start saying that with a little less scorn, sometime soon?” He was back to his book when she looked up, digging for her lighter. “Securitrons stay in Vegas, or on the trade routes. Got no business sending ‘em that far out.”

“Hn.”

One puff, two, until the lumpy little cigarette's end glowed like one of the lights in the Divide. He gave it a disapproving look, said nothing. She blew smoke—away from him. “You wanna use a damn word instead of grunt at me?”

“Shown no interest in the east this long, courier.” He closed the book on his finger. “Something… Some _one_ raise your head?”

“Might have done.” Adal watched smoke coil off the tip of it, avoiding his face. “Maybe I want someone at my back, I go out there. Only man that knows the Legion _and_ I trust not to gut me for it.”

“Resounding praise.”

She let him go back to reading a moment. The gloomy Divide sky was starting to dim, the graveyard under him that he'd watched over the better part of a year, refusing to set foot elsewhere. Ulysses said she ought to understand, and she did, in a way. But…

“Got word out of the east,” she said. “Things are...sticky. Thought pokin’ my head out that way would be smart. Get a jump on anything nasty.”

“Likely to get it shot off.”

“S’why I asked if you’d come, watch my ass.” She didn't look at him as she stood. “May’s well go now. No reason to sit around here.”

“You want someone who knows the Legion.”

She settled the strap of her pack. “Yeah?”

“Didn't mention them.” The book was set aside, Ulysses looking directly at her. “Just said east.” Adal shrugged and turned up the path towards Primm. “Courier. What news would make you risk this?”

“Walk me to the far side of the river, I might tell you,” she called, not turning.

She was nearly to the wreckage when she heard his footsteps, and let go a sigh of relief.

***

Tents and lean-tos had been set up against the crumbling Freeside buildings, the more prosperous—or just better-armed—folk even building shacks out of scrap wood and sheet metal.

Adal kept her ears open, hearing the whispers behind, watched the refugees who parted before of her. On the corner, a sign banged against a pole. The Followers' cross was faded from the sun, every bit as worn and weary as the folk who worked under it. A line had formed leading up to a square of tables, people too hungry to care about her approach.

A woman in a lab coat was handing bundles to them, dark circles under her eyes. "No, I'm sorry, we don't have more water yet, the pipeline was vandalized. Just one meal per person, I'm sorry. Your friend will have to come themselves. I'm sorry..."

Her heart sank, but she walked on. "Ma'am? Oh, ma'am, wait, please." She turned back. One of the Followers stopped wrapping bundles, making the people in line mutter.

Adal waved him back to his post, stepping in beside his station. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong—well, I don't know if it's wrong, but..." He was having trouble with the knot, and she tied it for him and passed it to the harried woman. "There were men asking about you earlier. They seemed... odd."

"Odd how?" She took a peek in the next bundle, holding only a shriveled yucca fruit and what looked like dried mantis meat. "You think they were...?"

"All I can say is they looked like soldiers before they were refugees." He looked around, too many curious eyes on them with her there. "And sort of...talked funny. I'd watch your back."

"I hear you." Adal wrapped up one more meal, such as it was. "Know where they are?"

"One of the Kings said they saw them camping on Sun street. But I don't know if..."

"S'alright. Thanks for the tip." She gave him a nod and headed towards Sun, hand on the pistol on her belt. _Talked funny._ Only a few ways of talking that got people's attention these days.

Sun was one of the better roads in the changing Freeside landscape. More intact walls, more security. More people with weapons to hold on to it, and the nerve to use them.

"Madam?"

_Talked funny_. Adal faced the man, standing at the mouth of an alley. Older, well gone to gray, but still wide shouldered and well-muscled. 'Soldier' was close, but not what she would call him. "Thought you people had better sense than to set up here."

He ducked his head, never meeting her eyes. "Only the ones who cling to what we were. Please, privacy would..."

"We deal in the open or not at all. I know what people say about me, but I ain't stupid enough to walk into a trap."

The street was nearly empty, but he still looked up and down for anyone close. "Yes. There's..." He stepped closer, lowered his voice. "We have news from the east."

She stood her ground, hand still on the butt of her gun, and waved for him to continue.

"We—people like us..." He gestured to the men in the alley behind him, three or four with the same way of holding themselves. "We realize the Legion will never be as it was. But that we are still servants, in our way. It is better we serve the stronger side."

"The rest?" Something in his voice made her jaw set, her hair stand on end.

"The rest want you dead for challenging them. They feel they will use vengeance to succeed where Lanius failed." He shook his head, bitter and old. "Before we came here, there was word that Flagstaff had closed its walls to the loyalists. That a Legate had declared himself warden of a reborn Caesar, swore to raze the city before coming here to retake the Dam."

"I've dealt with it before," she said, keeping her face set. Her mind flickered back to the refugees, still scrambling for resources to see them fed, never mind another war...

He seemed to recognize the thought. "He has a great number of the loyalist cohorts on his side, many of them very old, very dangerous, and devoted to the Legion. I would not treat this lightly."

"And I'm trusting you why?"

He reached behind himself, and her rifle was at her shoulder before he could finish. He held his other hand up, slower. "We came to New Vegas because we recognize our ways were wrong. That our lives under Caesar were wasted, cruel. Some of us want to make amends." He pulled something free from his belt and held it out to her. "If... if the stories of you are true, this was...taken, a very long time ago."

She took the knife from him, clenching her hand on it to keep from shaking. The black horn of the handle was worn smooth, the blade still bright and keen.

"There are more of us. We are regrouping beyond the river, out of sight of your people, giving what protection we may offer." He had looked up, and away as soon as she met his eyes. "But Lanius had us spend our best men on the Dam. We are near leaderless. If you would accept our fealty, madam..."

"I..." Her voice caught, rasping. "Ought to cut you down here. Get outta my town."

"We were to leave the city once we contacted you, and we will." He bowed his head and stepped away. The ones behind him were avoiding her gaze, but she counted them, their faces, _cut his throat before he can turn, a headshot on the first to rise, gut the nearest..._

Abrupt enough to shake her, he spoke. "There are things that cannot be apologized for, but know I took no pleasure in the order."

He was out of her reach, facing away. _Back of his neck, or his spine, keep him alive long enough to..._

She shook the thought from her head, turned back towards Freeside, the sound of her heart rushing in her ears.

***

“Woulda been over a month ago now.” She stepped over a crack in the pavement, avoiding the weeds growing between. “Needed a few more things to settle down before I could leave.”

Ulysses tested the balance of the knife, felt his thumb along the edge. "As much tool as weapon," he said, handing it back. "Hunter's trophy."

It was warm from his touch, and felt good in her hand. "Not wrong," she said, tucking it back through her belt. "Walker thing."

He tipped his head, listening. “I dunno, it’s… Lot of tribes have some sort of, of adulthood trial, right…” She shrugged and looked off into the evening gloom.

“Know the way of it,” he said, brushing almost absently at a braid.

She reached up to touch the one beside it, ran a thumb over the bead. “This’n’s new. Rifle shell?”

He blinked, glanced away. “New enough.”

She put her hand down, out of his space. “Be weird to say I like it?”

“Wouldn't.”

“Then I like it.”

A soft smile from him, and she grinned as she nudged him with her shoulder.

He had led as she talked, and their path took them into a shallow canyon. An empty town stood within it. “What’s this place?”

He looked away, eyes down. “Dry Wells.”

“Wait, that’s…oh.” The highway cut through the town, a sagging bridge spanning the valley. There were still a handful of buildings standing, ringed with rubble, a handful of tent poles without canvases set up between them. “You think anyone…?”

Ulysses held up a hand, and she dropped back a step, hand on her rifle sling. There were still scorch marks from campfires, most old, the ashes swept away by the elements, one or two fresh and pale. Crates and ammo boxes were stacked neatly alongside the buildings, no dirt or debris blown up against them. She knelt, pulling one open—empty. Not raiders. Someone had come through, searched the place methodically, taken everything useful.

Adal looked up. Ulysses stood nearer the center of the town, gazing at what might have been an animal paddock. She joined him, keeping a tactful distance as she stepped into the corner of his vision. “People have been through, recently. Probably our deserters.”

He blinked as though breaking a spell, shaking his head. Didn’t face her.

“It’s light enough,” she said, giving him a moment. “Can find a camp further on.”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “No. Enough shelter here, won’t find that again in walking distance.”

“If you’re sure.” She fell in beside again, letting him lead. Discreetly, she hooked a hand around his arm, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. He caught her hand as she let go, held tight. “Can I ask how long it’s been? Since you came back here?”

His breathing mask hung around his neck, no longer a necessity outside the Divide. It bobbed as he shook his head. “Never stationed here as a Legionary. Avoided it as a courier.”

She rubbed at his hand with her thumb. “Don’t have to stay.”

He pulled it free, stepped ahead. “Still embers here. Less than a day, whoever came through.”

As he coaxed the fire back to life, she nudged the door of the nearest building open, pulling the fire ax from the holster on her hip. The rooms were still neat and organized, very little dust left on the tables, a few of the beds with crates stacked on them. Three were clean—but they ran in groups of eight, didn’t they? She shrugged and searched the rest of the building, finding and leaving a cache of first aid supplies in the bathroom, and made quick work of a pair of mantises chewing through a stack of dry goods in the kitchen.

She held the insects and handful of maize husks up to Ulysses, crouched next to the fire with his staff resting on his shoulder. She waved him off as he reached to take them. “I killed ‘em, I’ll cook ‘em.” She laid them aside to rummage in her bag, coming up with her dented old pot and all the goodies packed inside it. “They were through here, the ones in Vegas. At least three, maybe one more standing guard.”

“Hn. Small group, trying not to attract attention,” he said, unfolding the stand for the pot. “Or possibly few enough men, not able to send more.”

“Guess we get to find out.” She sacrificed just enough water to soak the maize husks, setting the pot over the fire.

“What do you hope to find, courier?”

“Mm?” As they sat, she started stripping the meat from the one of the mantis’s legs. “Hell if I know, my man. That’s why I’m finding out.”

“Know your history with the Legion… Can fill in most, anyway.” He kept his eyes ahead, pulling the second mantis apart for her, and she watched him sidelong. “Can't see you making this peaceful. Not even to men renouncing Caesar…or not willingly.”

Adal let it hang in the air. “C’mon, you're clever enough. You tell me.” She measured out hominy from a cloth packet into her bowl, taking a bit more water to mix it into a dough.

He gave her a long look, considering. “Don't want another threat from the east. Going to ally with these men, the ones that might have torn down Vegas, against the ones who still wish it done.”

She nodded, mixing the meat and dough. “See? Easy.” Steam was lifting the lid pot, and she tested the husks, found them still too dry. “Ain’t my first choice. Not by a long shot, but you know the shape Vegas is in.”

He propped his cheek on a fist. “Still rebuilding.”

“Still rebuilding.” The husks were still stiff enough to crack at the bends, but she started stuffing them anyway. “We might hold the Strip, if a real threat came at us. Outer Vegas is still a bunch of towns only looking to themselves, for all I'm getting them to work together. Better we make peace with these guys than risk losin’ ‘em all.”

He fished out a husk, not flinching at the heat of the water. “That knife. Nothing to do with it?”

“Whole thing gets a little heavier, you get a reminder like that.” Between them, the last packet was dropped in the pot and set back to steam. “You believe in ghosts, man?”

He raised an eyebrow, looked at the town, Dry Wells, almost lost in the dark. “Not sure of much anymore.”

Adal rubbed the back of her neck, scooted a little closer to him. “Tell me this ain’t a place they belong.”

He said nothing, wrapping an arm around her instead. “Then we leave them here.”

Adal sighed. Wrapping up the tamales had reminded her too much of cigarettes, but Ulysses wouldn’t sit with her if she smoked. “Used to be mine,” she said, patting the pocket with her tin and papers anyway. “Some Legion fuck must have kept it after they butchered my tribe.” 

“You fought.”

“Bet your ass I fought.”

“And survived?”

“Yeah man, you’re huggin’ the only ghost here,” she said. He snorted. She leaned into him more. “Was a hunter, for the Walker. Your first trial, to apprentice to an older hunter, is to go kill something with a spear. Something scary or hard to track, and make a knife out of some bit of it.”

“Pronghorner,” he said. “Flighty.”

“We called ‘em lopers, the ones in the way north meadows. Took me a day just to see one, following tracks. Longer for Ches, took him—”

He squeezed her arm a little, looked down at her. She tried to speak, then shook her head, fingers over her mouth.

Ulysses pulled her closer, resting his chin on atop her head. She clenched her teeth, waiting for the hurt in her throat to die down before whispering, “Food’s probably done.”

He let her go to pull the pot off the fire, set the lid aside to let them cool. The only meaningful light was from the fire now, painting him in oranges and reds, throwing shadow in the lines of his face. “Never thought it would find a way to you.”

“No,” she said. “Means the guy who brought it to me…”

He dropped his head a moment, sat back beside her. “Don’t know that I’d carry a burden like that. Anything of mine then…Belonged to a different man. Younger.” He scoffed, added quietly, “Stupider.”

“Weren’t we all, sometime” she said. _Then._ Then and _before_ and _when it happened_ , so vague and so specific to each of them. “You sure you wanna spend the night here? Real sure?”

Ulysses stared into the fire, lips pursed, thoughtful. And slowly, “Yes,” with a heavy finality.

She gave his leg a squeeze, leaning into him. They ate in silence, tucking half the tamales aside for morning. He pushed ashes over the flames with a stick, smothering it down to coals that would smolder for the night. “Go sleep,” he said. “I have first watch.”

Adal took a breath to argue, out of habit, but stood instead. She kissed the top of his head and headed toward the building, stopping with her hand on the doorknob.

He sat alone, near the road, almost invisible in the dark of the town he’d once called home. Part of her wanted to turn back, sit with him, ask, but she opened the door instead. Let him have his time. Let _her_ have that smoke.

***

It was easy to stay where he was, in the island of heat and light from the fire. Easy to stay safe, keep the building at his back and his head down. Easy to hide.

So Ulysses stood, moving silently into the town.

Dry Wells had never been their only home. Twisted Hairs had territory across Arizona, and kept watch on what was beyond it. Made them strong, influential, having eyes and ears so far from here.

Made them a target. Made them _useful_ , when the Legion came, with false smiles and a knife to the throat.

Grit crunched under his boots, and he stepped lighter. The windows of the buildings like eyes, watching him; in the shadows behind him he could see his people, his tribe, the ones killed here or left to die. The rest…The rest had faced a slower death, tribe and kin and history bled from them to stain the earth red with Legion flags.

His feet had walked him to the center of town, no sound but a faint ringing in his ears. He folded is hands on his staff, rested his head on them as he strained to hear beyond it, whispers, voices, some sign that this was right…

That they hadn’t turned on him, blamed him for their fates, damned him to walk the earth until he died alone.

Silence.

Ulysses sighed through is nose, turning back. The road stretched ahead of him, only stars to light the way, the shadows reaching out at his heels. No ghosts, here. None for the town, the place…Maybe they’d moved on, or fled to rest on his back, to drag him under one last time, and he’d hear those voices only when he hadn’t a mind to listen or the strength to shut them out.

He didn’t look at the embers of the fire, kept his night vision at its best. He settled beside their building rather than go in, watching the dark. There was a weight on his tongue, in his throat, words unspoken with no one to hear.

There was a sense of a building inhabited; some warmth from its walls, a feeling of life. Called to him, in the cold and dark, and the words in him begged to be spoken, to find her, and his heart seized at the thought of laying bare, after so long, all that had brought him back here…

…And thought of her, straining to speak of something of her past before her, made real again in her hand. A name. In some quiet, unguarded moments, she’d almost spoken of them, caught herself as the light went out behind her eyes, turned away, turned silent. First time she’d named one of her sons, to him.

Sons. Sons, taken by the Legion, who had spread through Arizona in the tracks of the Twisted Hairs, until they overran their borders, bled into the wastes as part of the Bull, to start the process anew…

_We will make you great._

He clenched his hands on his lap, kept his head up, awake, alert. Kept his breathing even and deep, that memory—no ghost, him, don’t give him the honor of clinging on after death—old and familiar. He had looked on in awe and that young Legion before him, orderly, powerful, and agreed.

And what if he had resisted? If he had run back here then, warned them; had them run, had them call out to the smaller tribes on their flanks…

Old thoughts, old memories, old had-beens and might-haves. They weighed on him, wanting to be spoken. Given to share the burden, by someone who would understand.

And so deep yet in her own pain, nothing he could to bring to her.


	2. Chapter 2

Adal started awake, grabbing at the hand on her arm. She blinked up at Ulysses, at the light out the window. “I fall asleep?” She focused on him, the weariness in his eyes. “Dammit man, you should have woke me for a shift.”

He shook his head, set the clean cooking utensils on the next bed. “Better you slept. Likely find your deserters today, should be fresh for it.”

“And I need you sharp enough to watch my back, I don’t know how to handle these bastards,” she said, sitting up. “You wanna rest a while?”

“Should get on the road,” he said. She frowned, and he raised a hand. “No stranger to long nights, courier. Be fine.”

He left her to clean up, the cooking bowl full of fresh water. She joined him outside a few minutes later, retying a bandanna caught in a losing battle against her jaw-length shag of hair. “You set?”

Ulysses was crouched at the corner of the building, straightening as she spoke. “Well enough.” He offered what was left of last night’s dinner, striding down the road. She glanced at where he had been. There was bundle of twigs tied into a circle, propped up against the wall, rows of broc flowers on the ground below it. A single unwrapped tamale lay in the middle of it all.

She caught up with him, finishing her meal as she went. He avoided her gaze a little, and she let them both walk in silence, stepping further away as to not bother him with an after-breakfast cigarette. “So, uh,” she said when it had burned about halfway down. “How far out do you reckon these guys are?”

“Hn.” He looked at the sun, seemed to measure against the height of the mountains on the horizon. “Less than a day. Room for camps, here, ruins enough to house a group. They hope to shield you against Legion… 40’s most direct route.”

She nodded, watching the ground for trails. She crouched to peer at a boot print in the drifted sand, and Ulysses stopped to inspect a car trunk, rust flaked off the outer shell where it had been pried up, the interior still clean despite standing open. People had been been here, but neither could tell if it was Legion going west, to the Dam, or retreating east, or just wanderers on the old highway.

Adal squinted at a pile of rocks, unable to tell if it was a cairn or a chance tumble of stone, and cleared her throat. “So, give me the primer on these guys. I fought enough Legion, but what’s it mean to lead them?”

“Means backing up every word,” he said, looking up the road. “Even if they came to you, slightest weakness will be turned on you.”

“Ah, hey, nice’n familiar then,” Adal said. “Am I gonna need to push some faces in, or is that askin’ for trouble?”

He glanced at her, a thin, wry smile on his lips. “Wouldn’t open with it,” he said. “Their commander’s willing to bow to you. Not your equal, but no servant. He sees a way forward in—”

“Wait.”

Adal slipped behind a vehicle, Ulysses taking cover beside her. “Someone’s up there,” she murmured, peering through the car’s window. “Up on the hill.”

He followed her hand, shifting for a better view. Against the looming mountains, the figure was dark, indistinct, the shape of a hood peering down at them. “Not Legion,” he said, voice low. “Maybe one of the defectors. Scout, sentry.”

“Well, we’re here for them, so why they just staring?” Adal stood, a hand going to her rifle. The figure dropped back, behind the ridge, didn’t reappear as they waited. “Damn it.”

“Not worth the chase,” Ulysses said, sweeping up the road.

Adal frowned at his back and kept her feet planted. “That’s a real quick decision.”

“Too far to stand a chance.” He half-turned, slowing to a stop. “Could be anything, courier. If it’s a threat, better we face it with allies.”

“Well, yes, but allies ain’t guaranteed,” she said, starting after him. “Come on, my man, bein’ spied on never sits well. You could at least pretend to be worried.”

“One thing at a time.”

She pointed up at the ridge, following, other hand on her gun. “Yes, and this is happening _right now_.”

He didn’t respond, raising an eyebrow over his shoulder. Adal rolled her eyes and kept walking.

The path wound between a series of low mesas as they walked, silent, her with a cigarette to try and calm the twitch in her nerves. Adal stuck her tongue out at a hill, ideal cover for anyone tracking them. She stopped short, something on the ridge catching her eye, and she put a hand on Ulysses shoulder.

He nodded, both of them stepping into the shadow of a burned out trailer. The flag hung motionless, no breeze to send it flapping. She frowned at the shape on it, expecting the bright gold bull on red, but it was something darker.

Ulysses tugged on the back of her duster, glancing from it to the flag, and back to her. She pulled a face, muttered, “Found ‘em.” Adal pinched out the cigarette, tucked it back in a pocket. “Well? See any guards? What's our way in?”

“Path we're on,” he said. “Expecting us.”

Her hair prickled all the way down her spine. “Feels a hell of a lot like walkin’ into a trap.”

“Fought your way out of worse,” he said.

“Nearly wound up dead doing it.” She let out a breath through her nose as they set out again, walking close enough that her arm brushed his. “I got the lead on this, right. I'm their boss now. You just stand there, look mean, hit me with that damn stick of yours before I say somethin’ dumb.”

“Before?” He hefted his staff a bit as he walked. “Could get a start on it here, then.”

She gave him an exasperated look, didn’t quite laugh as she turned away. Ulysses rested a hand on her shoulder before falling a half step behind.

There were sounds as they approached, the sussrus of a camp. Few voices were raised, but a mass of people made noise enough. She forced herself to breathe evenly, watching the path and hills around for—

“ _Ave._ ”

Legion. Her fingers twitched, wanting to go the stock of her rifle. The man raised his arm beside the flag, hailing them from well above. Adal made herself raise her hand in reply, and he gestured to someone behind him.

She squared herself up, walking like she owned the place. They wanted her to lead them? Damn right she would.

The road dipped into a shallow valley, but Adal nudged them to a footpath off the side of the road, keeping them on higher ground longer. She stopped at the crest of it, catching sight of the rows of fortifications below, but the men lining the path had her attention. As one, they placed fists over hearts, called, “ _Ave, Imperatrix!_ ”

She didn't flinch. Mostly. Adal kept her eyes ahead, trying not to stare. The armor was the same, old Legion gear still better protection than nothing. The red was gone, tunics dyed over to a dull brown, each with a dark sash from shoulder to hip.

Someone was approaching, up the freeway. She didn't slow as she descended the hill, pretended to look through him rather than stare wide-eyed. The centurion's armor was still impressive— _threatening_ , something in the back of her head clamored—even done up in blue and brown.

Good god, she wanted the rest of that smoke.

Adal stopped a few strides away, and he did the same. He slammed a fist to his chest, said, “ _Ave, Imperatrix._ ” The rest of them followed suit as he brought his arm down, watching her expectantly.

She nodded, folding her arms. “Howdy.”

His eyebrow tried to lift, and she clenched her teeth on a bray of nervous laughter. “We have awaited your arrival, Domina. It is an honor to meet you in person.”

“Be nice to say the same, centurion, but you'll be filling me in first,” she said. “All’f you know who I am. Who are you? What do you call yourselves?”

“We are, until you ask different of us, your Limitanei, Domina.” He gestured to the men beside him. He was taller than most of them, armor or not, with a blunt, unforgiving sort of face that made her want to dig in her feet and steady for a fight. “I am centurion Aelius, of White Sands, _primus pilus_ of our cohort, such as it is. What are your orders?”

She nodded along like it meant something, hoping Ulysses had stayed close enough to hear. “None yet, centurion. Tell me more about your… Setup, here.”

“Yes, madam.” He gestured to the men lining the road, who fell into line and marched back down, towards the camp.

Adal followed him down the road, keeping her hands at her sides instead of smoothing down the goosebumps on her neck. She remembered standing at the top of the hill, the tent behind her starting to burn. Gasping for air, the smell of blood and gunpowder in her nose, the dead Legionaries strewn across the entire Fort below…

 _Just a standard layout_ , she thought. Nice, orderly rows, the ruins flattened by wind and sand, tents erected in the empty spaces. No dead here, just men wandering between tents, drilling and training in the open areas. It was a place of order, of duty, calm in its way.

The men they passed stepped aside and saluted, and she could feel their eyes on her. She shook it off, reminding herself to breathe. “... Keeping watch on our eastern front. None but their scouts have come so far, but they are aware of our presence and our desertion. They will come for us.”

She snapped back to the moment, focusing on Aelius’ back. “What do we know about the loyalists?” _We?_ Hell, she didn't want these men, shown up on her doorstep.

“They hold to the Legion’s hard line, rather than adapt to change,” he said. “Their leader is called the Legate Venator, once tasked with holding the Colorado regions, and now claims that the reborn Son of Mars will guide him to the shores of the NCR.”

“Well, shit. Ain't that exactly…” A group of—Well, they weren't Legionaries now, were they?—men were carrying balks of wood on their shoulders, moving crisply. Dragging behind with tools and sacks was a handful of men and women, roughly dressed and stick thin.

“There is one thing I am making damn clear here, centurion.” She kept her voice low, stepping up beside him, but the heat was still there. “You walk under the blackjack, fine. But I will not have you do it with a single goddamn slave.”

“Domina, you realize that is—”

“I realize it's fucking barbaric, is what I realize.”

Behind her, a faint, reproachful, _”Courier.”_ Ulysses wasn't frowning openly, but she leveled a finger at him, promising hell later.

“My men are occupied enough seeing to the defense of this place.” Aelius had turned, giving her companion a puzzled look. “Would you demean them, reduce their effectiveness by asking them to take up menial camp duties as well?”

“I don't care what the hell they end up doing,” she said. “You came to _me_ , Aelius of White Sands. You don't like what you get, march on back out east, see what reception you get there.”

He stared at her down his nose, standing in the center of the path. She eyeballed him right back, nodded her head, and kept walking. “If you aren't able to provision and free them here, escort them to the Followers of the Apocalypse in Freeside. They'll look after them.”

She was several steps away before she heard his armor rattle, catching up. “As you wish, Imperatrix.”

***

“Where the hell did they get a bed this big?”

“Courier, antagonizing these men…”

“A real bed. Nice blankets and everything.”

“... Have sought your leadership for war, not their own affairs…”

“Not even marks from critters burrowing in, look.”

“... Concession enough to take orders from a woman…”

Adal sat down, bouncing on the edge of it. “Still springy. Can't win ‘em all, I guess, I just get to wake up feeling like I'm sinking.”

“Courier.”

“C’mere and smell this. It have a smell to you?”

“Courier!” Adal rested back on her elbow. Ulysses had his hands raised, beseeching. “Do you _understand_ the risks you are taking here?”

“Yeah, could be someone didn't get up before they took a—” he threw up his hands and walked back out to the main part of the tent. “I _was_ listening,” she shouted. She gave the bedding one last sniff before following him out.

The Limitanei had set up a roomy pavilion tent for her, with a bed off the back and table and chairs in the front. Lanterns hung in the corners, turning the evening moody and orange. “C’mon, man. I'm sorry, I'm a shit when I'm nervous.” She sat at the table, smoothing out one of the maps laid across it. “Ain't trying to antagonize them. Trying to set the record straight on who's in charge, here. Likin’ what I see otherwise, but some things can't stand.”

“Could make your changes more… Diplomatic.” He rested his hands on the table, facing her. “The Limitanei have agreed to accept your leadership. But they have been forged by years in the Legion, remade in that fire. Takes time, changing that thinking.”

“Doesn't bother you, knowing they trade and use people like _things_?” She picked up the gold coin sitting over Flagstaff, an eagle pressed into the face. “Even with your past?”

“You know nothing of it.”

There was an edge in his voice that should have warned her off. “And you mine. Divide was founded by escaped slaves, you know that much. I may have been one of them, hell if you even _asked._ ”

He straightened, jaw set. “This where you want to go, tonight?”

Adal took a deep breath, mouth opened—and let it go, a hand to her face. “Christ—no. I’m sorry. This’s all got me on edge. No call for me shit-stirring.”

He scowled, but nodded. “These men want a _leader_. What that means to them? What leaders they’ve known in the Legion?”

She sat back, folding her arms. “The hell? You were the first I saw walk _away_ on the Legion, say it had to change or die. Now we got some who ain't gonna rape and pillage across the countryside, and I ain't gonna let keep slaves, and you're telling me to slow down. Thought you had my back.”

“Keeping a knife from it, these men decide that blackjack looks more a target.” Ulysses stared her down, and she picked a spot on the wall to examine instead. He scoffed and turned away, pacing the length of the table. “Asked me here because I could advise on the Legion. Now you won't listen?”

She slid further down her chair, putting her feet up on the opposite one. “And maybe I got too thick a skull to remember that,” she muttered.

He glanced back, but his face was still set. “Seems likely.”

“Sorry.” She felt the stub of cigarette in her pocket, forced herself to leave it. “I’m listening, I am. Just…even if you left them, my man, you got some measure of… _familiar_ , in being here, working with these guys. _I_ got half a lifetime waiting for them to jump round every corner at me.”

He wandered down her side of the table, stopping behind her chair. “Assumed you would trust me, courier.” He looped his arms over her shoulders, and she looked at him looking down at her. “Instead of going on about _beds_.”

“I do trust you.” She pushed up in her seat, planting a kiss on his lips. “You don't want it, I'll take the little cot they put out here for you. Your feet’d hang off.”

Ulysses gave a quick _huh_. “Don't approve of you sleeping with your adviser.” He leaned back as she stood, glancing at the front of the tent.

“They got a hell of a thing coming,” she chuckled. He stepped away, and she craned after him. “What’ve you got—”

Someone cleared their throat outside the flap, and shuffled back as he drew it aside. “Ave! Uh, Domina.” A young man stood there, apparently made of nothing but knees and elbows inside a brownish tunic. He glanced from her to Ulysses, back to her. “The centurion hopes you have found our camp satisfactory. He sends his regards, and a note.”

“What can’t he say to my face?” The runner looked nervous, still holding out a slip of paper. “Look, what was your name—Pluvius? Don’t tell him I said that”

Ulysses passed her the note. Adal flicked it open, angling it towards the light. “The fuck. Bastard's _billing_ me?”

He leaned over to look, and she waved a hand over it. “Price per head on slaves…? _Wages?_ You people get _paid_?”

“Yes, Domina, all Legionaries above recruit—”

“ _Paid?_ Now _I_ have to pay you?”

“Dismissed.” The boy scrambled out of the tent, letting the flap fall. “All senior Legion are given a wage. Most comes back as supplies, food…” He frowned, held it a little further away. “Wants extra for auxiliaries.”

“For what.” She rubbed at her head.

“Rare use. Men who aren’t full Legion, tend to have skills outside fighting.” His mouth twisted. “To do camp duties, largely. Seems he will cooperate…On his terms.”

“Agh.” She sat again, hard. “Don't tell me the Legion has bureaucrats too.”

“Told you to be prudent. Should have won trust before making demands. Slaves here are either the finest in the southwest, or he’s trying to make you reconsider.” He passed back the letter. “Takes men from defenses. Makes them vulnerable.”

“They don't have enough people?” She tossed it down, scowling.

“Not a full cohort. Well under two thousand men.” He shook his head. “Body count at the Dam… loyalists under this Venator might outnumber them six to one. They need to fortify, hold this front.”

She stared at him, rolling numbers over in her head. “How fucking many?”

“Depends on how many are entrenched in Flagstaff.” He rubbed at his eyes, headed towards the back of the tent.

“That doesn't help!” She went after him, pausing to blow out the lanterns. “These men are gonna walk if I can't pay them. Hell if I'll see them break down to raiders, or turn on Vegas.”

“Little reason to stay put, can't meet demands.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Long day tomorrow.”

“God, I don't wanna think about it.” She tossed her duster over the foot of it, flopping down on her back beside him. “Don't wanna think about finding that many caps.”

“Not coin?”

She reached down long enough to prop her rifle against the side of the bed, in easy reach. “Mojave’s always run in caps. Give ‘em something that I actually got, and that they’ll _spend_.”

He leaned down to yank off a boot. “More money from the Strip?”

“Had a thought.” She stayed on her back as she wrestled with the laces on hers. “Might open the Lucky 38.”

“That crypt?” He said. “Business can't be what it was.”

“We're getting tourists through, bit at a time. Locals who want to try their luck.” She already had enough of her armor off to skin out of her pants and drop them on the floor. Ulysses gave her a look, and reached down to fold them. “Thought the place would be… Old enough, exclusive enough to draw people. Keep the Securitrons on as staff, maybe, don't have to _pay_ them.” He snorted. “Might just put them on the militia payroll, we still got people signing on for that…but there’s a hell of a lot of men out here. Need more caps to fund it.”

“And you would run this, alone?” He slid back on the bed, drawing her along..

“I got some ideas. Finding a a replacement for Cachino made me some contacts,” she said, letting him.

“Hn.” Her head tucked comfortably under his chin, an arm wrapped around her waist. “Think twice, you decide to do to the centurion what you did to the Omerta.”

“I was in a hurry. Not like Gomorrah never cleaned up a bloodstain,” she grumbled. “Every pimp in the Mojave signs the same agreement with me: no chems, no minors, only willing workers, and a doctor on staff. He was the only one so far who’d found it hard. Deserved worse’n a bullet to the brain.”

“Mn. Diplomatic.” He hugged her a little tighter, stroking her side. “Your little walk east’s been more interesting than a month on that ledge.”

She snorted, tugged at the bandanna off her head. “M’never dull.”

“Never.” She shut her eyes as he reached up, ran his fingers through her hair, out of his face. “Should keep growing it.”

“Tempted to hack it off again. Pain in the ass, getting it long enough to tie.”

He mumbled something like agreement, starting to drift off, and she sighed, stroking at his arm. Her eyes kept opening as she lay there, and she worried her heartbeat would wake him—not fast, but every beat like a hammer blow. More than a thousand men, former Legion, on the other side of a thin canvas wall. Aelius had been respectful, professional, but all around her there were men in armor she could feel watching her, weapons in hand, surrounded and outnumbered…

Ulysses roused as she scooted to sit up. “We're gonna be damn hot in this bed. One of us ought to be on watch, too, even if we do have guards.”

“I can…”

“You were up all last night. I got this one.” Adal shut her eyes, trying to breathe out the tension that still settled in her gut. Needing to lead these men. Troops she didn't trust, more caps than she'd seen in her life, Legion coming for her head, being an asshole to Ulysses...

“Y’know what.”

“Mm?”

“I’m gonna be mean and keep you up longer,” she said, throwing a leg over him. “Need one nice thing out of today.”

“Cruel.” He chuckled, low, hands finding their way up her shirt. “Tents don’t do much for sound.”

“Let ‘em eavesdrop.” She leaned down for a kiss. “They got more to worry about from me than this.”

***

Adal did wake later on, far too warm. She scooted away, finding a cool spot on the bed. Behind her, Ulysses murmured, feeling sleepily at where she’d been. She pulled his hand to her waist and stroked it with her thumb, until his breathing deepened and slowed.

Someone outside raised their voice, no more than a word. She didn't catch it, and there was no response as she lay there, eyes open, heart pounding. She let out a long breath. Big camp, lot of people. Probably nothing.

Her nerves were just settling again when someone moved, pushing aside the partition.

Adal kept her eye nearly shut, watching them lay the canvas straight. They moved slow, easy, no sound from their feet. She counted her breaths as they approached, keeping them even. Light glinted off the edge of a blade, and a hand reached out, ready to grab her by the hair, yank her head back and expose her throat…

She snatched his arm by the wrist, twisting hard. He yelped surprise, slashing madly with the knife. She lunged, trying to grab his other arm as they tumbled to the floor.

She heard Ulysses say something, still groggy and unintelligible. “Could use a fucking ha—fuck you!” The point of the knife dug into her ribs as they grappled, trying to get on top. Adal kneed up hard enough to make him flinch, and heaved him aside.

An arm wrapped around the assassin's throat, lifting him off the ground. There was panic in his eyes, faint moonlight getting in through the edges of the tent.

“Who sent you?” She had hold of his wrist, but he still fought, pulling away. “Talk and you'll live!”

He drew up his legs, kicking out hard. Adal fell on her ass, and Ulysses staggered back at the force. The stranger twisted, sinking the knife into his arm. Ulysses grunted, trying to pry the weapon away, but refused to let go. The assassin sawed the blade into him, weakening his hold.

Adal rolled, searching the ground, but her rifle had been kicked out of sight in the scuffle. Something else caught her eye, and she scrambled for her clothes. Her pistol was in her belt, god damn it, he'd set it somewhere—

A cry from the assassin. She turned to see him clutching his wrist, Ulysses kicking the knife away. She caught it, yanking his head back and setting the blade against his neck.

“You are damn lucky I want an explanation, you bastard,” she said. “Talk.”

She couldn't see his face, turned away, but there was desperation in his voice. “There _will_ be retribution, harridan. True to Caesar!”

He grabbed her arm, jerking the knife against his own throat before she could react. He went limp, and Adal stumbled back as she dropped him. “I'm— the fuck? What the _fuck._ ” She looked up at Ulysses, examining the damage to his arm. “You okay?”

“Seen surprised you have enemies,” he said, reaching for his clothes. He fished a stimpak from a pouch, grimacing as he set the needle. “Wearing Limitanei gear. Agent of this Venator, an infiltrator, else there's more unrest in the ranks than the centurion realizes.”

“There fucking well better not be.” She grabbed the body by the neck of his armor. “Come on.”

“Where are— Courier. Your clothes.”

“Fuck ‘em! I want answers!” Outside, the pair of guards outside her tent were gone. She cast around, spotting their bodies where they had been dragged into shadow.

“Think he'll respect—”

“I think he'll shut up and listen if he knows what's good for him.” The centurion's tent wasn't far, just past the training yard.

“At least the duster. You can't—”

“Watch me.” She switched arms partway, starting to sweat. A guard was nodding off outside the pavilion. “You! Wake up. Get the centurion.”

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head, mouth open. She glowered at him. “Get!”

Ulysses was beside her, and she saw him hold out her clothes from the corner of her eye. She kept her head up, trying to ignore the cold breeze in uncomfortable places. Ulysses had at least gotten pants on under his duster, good god why did she storm out here like this…

The tent flap was pushed aside, Aelius barefoot in a tunic. Before he could get his bearings, she heaved the body towards him. “Explain this, you son of a bitch.”

He stopped short, giving it a shocked look. He looked up, anger setting in, before going distinctly red. “Well, centurion?” She reached back, and Ulysses slipped her duster over her shoulders.

“This is—” He straightened up, gesturing to the guard. “Domina, you are wounded. Please come inside.”

“Most of it ain't mine.” She reached down to pull the bandanna from the assassin's face. “You recognize him?”

He leaned close, turning his face to the light. “He is unfamiliar to me. Gaius, have the men roused. Find who is missing.” More Limitanei had appeared at the noise, staring, muttering, and she pulled her duster closer. “Domina, please join me inside.”

The inside of her tent was not so different from her own. More cluttered, perhaps, with the table made of planks and crates. Aelius gestured at someone in the back of the tent. ”Sabina, fetch healing materials.” He turned to her, gestured for them to sit. “What happened?”

Before she could start, Ulysses had raised his hand, just enough to get her attention. “The man attacked us, as we slept. Killed himself rather than allowing himself to be captured.”

Aelius sat, heavily. “All of my men willingly left the Legion. Some may have been pressured by their brothers…”

Ulysses shook his head. “Not one of yours. Damage on the front of his armor, not from our fight. Sash was tied wrong. He put it on rushed, took it from a dead man. Check your sentries.”

“Imperatrix, if you would join me…?”

Adal narrowed her eyes at the voice. A woman held aside the flap to the back of the tent, a bag of healing powder in her other hand.

“…a partner, waiting to rendezvous in the hills. Not uncommon for frumentarii work in pairs...”

“I thought he was sending the slaves away,” Adal said, letting the flap fall behind her.

“My name is Sabina, Domina, and I am the centurion’s wife,” she said with a hint of sniff in it. Adal studied her as she laid out her supplies on the bed. She carried herself tall, in a soft blue tunic, a white skirt with a knotted fringe on the edge, both far too clean to indicate work. “And I am one of the few healers left in camp. Are you badly hurt?”

“Long, but it ain’t deep,” she said, pulling her duster aside, biting her teeth as she wiped away the blood. Under her breath. “You need to get out of here, I can arrange it.”

Sabina paused, smearing a paste onto a rag. “I understand your concern, Domina, but this is unnecessary.”

The men were still talking, attention off them. “I mean it. And any other women here, if they need out. I ain’t gonna let them—”

“Domina, thank you, but you already called our bluff on the slaves’ contracts,” she said, pressing the rag against the wound. “Anyone who might need to do so has already left. Gods help us, now _I_ have to teach the men how to make hydra without poisoning one another.”

“ _Our_ bluff?” Adal gritted her teeth, letting Sabina pinch the edges of the wound shut, the medicine stinging. “You telling me you got a stake in this?”

“As much as your man does in you, Domina.” Sabina wrapped a bandage over her ribs, holding the lot of it in place. She nodded to the front of the tent as she finished, Ulysses’ voice saying something about Flagstaff. “Don’t tell me you actually came here naked.”

“I, uh. Was in a hurry.” She jerked a thumb. “Think he grabbed my stuff.”

She swept out, murmured a few words, was back in just as fast. “If I may offer a suggestion, Domina,” Sabina said, facing to one side as Adal shook out her pants. “Many of these men are unused to seeing women as peers, let alone superiors. They respect you as a warrior enough to let you try, though it is a risk push the point that you are female.”

“Ah, come on.” Adal managed to get her head through the collar of her shirt. “I killed a man naked in my sleep, they can step up if they think to do better.”

“They may try.” Sabina’s look was nearly as amused as exasperated. It faded, and she licked her lips as Adal pulled her duster back on. “May I ask a favor, Domina?”

“Shoot.”

She glanced at the partition. “The centurion’s other wife, a woman called Camilla, was sent to the Flagstaff Temple to have her child before the battle at the Dam. Any messengers that have returned were turned back or driven off…If your travels take you there, please bring back word of her.”

“For his sake?” Adal frowned. “If he doesn’t care enough to go after her…”

“He can’t risk the entire cohort for one woman, one child. Nor can he show weakness, mourning for them,” Sabina said, watching her over her shoulder. “She was my friend, Domina, and whatever child of hers was a child of mine. If they are safe, I will be in your debt to learn of it.”

Adal met her eyes, lowered them. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“…three days’ travel, any threat on the road unknown.” Ulysses looked up, taking in her clothes with a faint nod.

“What’ve I missed?” she said, sitting next to him.

“Domina, I cannot apologize enough for such a lapse,” Aelius said. “I beg your forgiveness, but I cannot guarantee your safety here. You are too great a target. I will send an escort back to the city, and my optio will discuss our situation—”

“No.”

She watched Ulysses from the corner of her eye. “Your resources here are limited, centurion. I get that. But retreating’s no option, not with this Venator after both of us,” she said. “What do you know about the forces in Flagstaff? Their numbers, if they're willing to negotiate with outsiders.”

“Madam, seeking a truce with them is doomed to fail,” Aelius said. “They hold your city in no regard, have closed their walls. To even approach is foolish.”

“Can’t hope to fight this Legion remnant, not on this front, with limited forces,” Ulysses said. “Vegas won’t endure a siege. Best hope is to steer them to Flagstaff, if we can’t deal with them.”

The centurion looked from him to her, and back. He rubbed at his face, rasping over a the start of morning stubble. “Gaius!”

“Sir!” A man stuck his head inside the tent.

“Fetch our reports on Flagstaff, and the maps from the Imperatrix’ tent,” he said. “And see if we have retained any cooks. It will be a long time until breakfast.”

***

“We have a headcount, sir.” Adal lifted her head out of her hands. Gaius, the centurion's second, pushed into the tent and held up a list. “Two sentries are dead, one with his armor stolen. The two guards on the tent, as well.” He passed the sheet to the centurion, folding his hands behind his back. “There is one man unaccounted for, a prime Legionary, Marius. None recognize the assassin. He is from outside our cohort.”

“Not a fully outside job, then.” Adal ran her fingers through her hair, the annoying half-length of it brushing at her ears. “You have any scouts out on the 40? South of the ruins.”

“None, on that side of the hills,” Aelus said, taking the paper. “Why?”

“Someone was shadowing us there. Accomplice, maybe,” Adal said. “This Marius? He size us up for the assassin?”

Aelius frowned, looking over the sheet. He leaned aside absently, letting Sabina collect a plate from beside him. “A man of no great remark. Left Flagstaff before they closed their walls to the Legion, or us. Competent, dutiful.” He laid it down, rubbing his head. “Perfect cover for a spy, it made him nearly invisible.”

“So where’s he going?” She glanced at Ulysses. “Venator, or Flagstaff?”

He held a finger to his lips, thinking. “Unimportant,” he said at last. “Both forces outnumber ours. Needs to be cut down on the road.”

She rested her chin on her thumbs, palms together. The wound on her side pulled, and she twisted in her chair. “Think we need to get to Flagstaff. Now. Either get through to them, or let them and the remnants tear each other up. We can't take them on at full strength.”

“Allow me to send _some_ support with you, Domina,” Aelius said, with the air of a man begging for patience. “If you will not accept a full entourage, please allow me to send men with skills in diplomacy and intelligence gathering.”

“Spies and—” _liars_ , but she bit her tongue. “Politicians,” she finished, a little too slow. “Hell. God knows I need help turning _this_ into something they'll listen to,” she said, gesturing at her mouth. “No more’n five, and men that are willing to move fast and light.”

“I will send for them shortly, madam.” He looked like a knife had been taken from his neck.

“Sooner we're moving, the safer,” Ulysses said. “Midmorning, latest.”

The hunted expression returned. Adal stood before he could speak. “There, ain't it nice when we’re on the same page?” She dug through the pile of papers, coming up with the note on wages. “And don't worry about pay. I'll have a representative come by today and get it sorted.”

“Yes, Domina.” He didn't seem to have the heart to argue


	3. Chapter 3

“Representative?”

“Don't you start.”

“Thought the machines’ range didn't go so far.”

Adal looked back. The bulk of the Limitanei were trailing behind, giving them space. Another pair was forging ahead on the highway, scouting. She had finally thrown up her hands at Aelius’ insistence that his men were trained to fight in groups of eight, and was saddled with a full contuberinum.

 _Fuck ‘em._ "It didn't." She turned back. “But I dunno if you saw the launch from Repconn a few weeks ago…”

He closed his eyes a moment, but didn’t lose a step.

“Don't sass me! They couldn't keep in touch further out on the trade routes. I told you all the crap the Brotherhood’s been pulling.” She waved her arm, her Pip-boy screen flashing in the noon sun. “Come in handy a few times, with a satellite to bounce the signal.”

“Former Legion on your right hand, widening your hold with House’s machines…” He thumped the end of his staff a little too hard. “Wonder how long before the Bear decides to push back.”

“They learned their damn lesson,” she said. “Besides, they seem fine milking us for trade, they ain’t about to start killing birds over it.”

Ulysses opened his mouth, closed it as he looked at her.

She shrugged, gesturing vaguely. “I dunno, some story about a bird? Lays eggs? But I don’t remember why…”

She gave up, turning to the scout jogging along the road towards them, kicking up a plume of dust. He saluted her, muttered, “Domina,” and turned to Ulysses. “Sir, there's signs of travel ahead. A pair of men at most, moving quickly.”

“How old’s the trail? Any chance of catching them?” Adal said.

His eyes flickered to her, back to Ulysses. “Not certain we can. They have a good lead and seem to be moving fast. We are more than a day behind.”

“Could run it alone,” she murmured. He nodded, but looked uncertain. “No idea what I'm walking into though.”

“Could,” he said. The other Limitanei had caught up, waiting just in earshot. “Leave behind backup, safe harbor, for a place wants you dead.”

“Ehh…” She scratched her fingers through her hair. “Well, damn. What happens if this Marius hits the Legion before we do?”

The scout frowned. “Sir. Allow me to go ahead. I can stop them before they reach—”

“Hey! I'm running this damn circus,” Adal said. “You, what's your name— Vitis. You were stationed in Flagstaff before you came west, right?”

He looked at a point over her shoulder rather than her face. “I was, Domina.”

“Then we need you there, not haring off somewhere they can put you down quiet,” she said.

His face soured. “Domina, these men betrayed us and killed our comrades—”

“I know. Welcome to life. Can—”

“I will not let the insult stand. Woma—”

Adal grabbed the neck of his tunic, nearly dragging him off his feet. “You wanna talk, buddy? Fucking look at me when you do.” He was fair enough for a flush to show on his skin, putting a rage in his face, a light in his eyes. “You people _came_ to me. You ask for me to lead, you shut up and listen.” She gave him a shove, letting go. “I was gonna say, jackass, if you knew where we might head them off, so we weren't dragging on their footsteps instead of getting a jump on them.”

He jerked his armor straighter, looking her full in the eye. She lifted her chin and stared back.

There was a snort behind her. “That woman put Lanius in the dirt. Unless you think to do better against her _and_ her man, I'd step down.”

Vitis broke the look to face the Limitanei decanus. “Didn't ask you, Seneca.”

Their decanus stood there, mouth quirked, thumbs through his belt. “You never do. Why do you think you were never promoted?” He turned to Adal, saluted. “I apologize for my brother. He will be more respectful from here on,” with a significant look at him.

“Long as he keeps himself to himself,” she said. “We're losing ground. Where can we cut him off?”

“The 40’s the only clear path through rough land, headed to Flagstaff,” Seneca said. “Ashfolk was the nearest outpost, but was nearly deserted on our march for the Limitanei camp. Sedona was larger, but out of our way. No way to say who still holds it.”

“Venator, most recently,” Vitis said. Adal made herself let out a slow breath as he avoided looking at her. “It may have changed hands, but Flagstaff rarely sends patrols so far.”

“See? This. You being helpful,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “Do this more. We got a road to Sedona that isn’t…?” Adal waved a hand at the wide road. “Ain’t walking up on a platter.”

“I know it.” Ulysses’ voice was steady, but he had that suspiciously flat look on. Adal bit her lip to keep from grinning back. “A long day’s run over rough ground, but we’re on his heels.”

“The hell are we waiting for, then?” She turned so her duster swished, marching off. Ulysses struck off in a slightly different direction, and she corrected to walk beside him. “How'd I do?”

“He'll challenge you again,” he said. “Not openly. Not to win. But resents taking orders from a woman.”

“Figured that much,” she said. “Can I trust him? The rest?”

“Hm.” He watched the sun play on the eagle topping his staff. “Left Flagstaff for a reason. Abandoned the Legion. May run from this, too. The rest, no sympathy for him.”

“I'll keep an eye on him.” She could hear muttering behind her, and a low laugh from Seneca. “The old guy’s…odd. For Legion.”

Ulysses nodded. “Wise enough to see no future in the Bull. Knows he's suited for little but war. Limitanei, Vegas, his best option.”

“That so.” She pulled out the stub of a cigarette, chewing on the end rather than lighting it. “Realizes it's gonna be a lot of sitting around, and not chasing after a fight?”

“Old man, grew old in the Legion,” he said. “This point, probably welcomes it.”

***

Ulysses drifted aside through the day, staring out at the Arizona landscape. Adal considered going after him, but left him to his wandering. Been a while since he was out this way, give him some space.

She tensed at footsteps beside her, the bulk of Legion armor filling the corner of her vision. Her neck prickled, and she tried to hide her tension, breathing out and keeping her shoulders loose. “Something wrong, decanus?”

“Wrong? No,” Seneca said. “I wished to apologize once again for my subordinate’s behavior. It will not happen again.”

Eyeing him sidelong, he seemed at ease, watching the horizon. The machete on his hip was one of the broad-bladed, well-made ones rather than a shitty lawnmower blade, the same model SMG as Ulysses carried slung at his other side. The feathering on his veteran’s helmet ruffled in the breeze, the color in them darker and murkier to hide the red. He glanced over as she studied him, and she held his gaze a deliberate moment before facing ahead. Her age, or older—ancient for a Legionary—with weather and gravity etched into brown skin.

“Better not,” she said at last. “You trust him out ahead like this? Not meeting up with our missing man out there?”

“Doubtful,” he said. “I only knew of this Marius in passing, and none of my men had contact with him.”

“Real sure about that?”

“I would know, Domina,” without any heat. “My men are like brothers to me.”

She glanced back at the rest of them. There was a fair space between them, but she doubted any were much out of their twenties. “Sons, more like.”

Seneca snorted faintly. He made no move to leave, and Adal pulled out a cigarette, hoping to drive him off. “If I may, Domina…I know you do not wish us here, but our goal is to keep you alive, and serve you however you need.”

She flicked open her lighter. “You’re only here to make your boss happy. What happens if I send you back? You call it a day, go home to whatever wives you been assigned?”

“Ha, no. I misplaced her some time ago,” Seneca said. Adal raised an eyebrow. “Spent so long in the field, I couldn’t remember which camp she had last been in. I hope she doesn’t pine for me.”

Adal stared at him a moment longer, trying to sort sarcasm from sincerity. He kept his eyes ahead, face neutral. “I don’t care how much of a wag you can be, buddy, I know how much blood that machete of yours’s spilled.”

A conceding nod from him. “I recognize you have had no small conflict with the Legion, in the Mojave and before. But we have abandoned their ways, or many of them, at least. We wish to be of use you as faithfully as we may.”

Adal took a drag on the smoke, held it a moment. “The man who brought me the knife. The one who came to Vegas.”

“What of him?”

“You knew him?”

“Not personally. A peer,” Seneca said. “But I never served beside him.”

Breath in, breath out, trying to send the tension away with the smoke. “Where is he now? Back there with the rest of you, pretending all’s good now?”

“Livius never returned to camp.”

She turned to him again, studying his face. “I don’t take kindly to pandering, decanus.”

He met her eyes, and said, with calm deliberation, “He never returned to camp.”

The moment stretched. He broke first, nodding faintly before looking away. Adal set her jaw and raised her cigarette.

The decanus drifted back as they continued on, leaving Adal to walk alone. As the sky began to darken, she stopped short, smelling the air. “Hey, fellas!” She turned to walk backwards, waving at the men. “Sedona on a river?”

The flatlands dipped into a narrow stream, as far off the road as they were. It was nothing more than a series of still greenish puddles, spring rains and flash floods probably the only thing to keep it from drying up completely. Geckos had congregated on the near bank, starting to hiss and giving wary looks at her approach. She fired off a rifle round, sending them scattering. “Whadda you think? Camp for the night, or keep pushing?”

“Your initiative, Domina,” Seneca said. Just behind him, Ulysses gave a faint nod.

She shrugged. “Push, is my word. Camp outside Sedona when we reach it, recon there. Prefer we didn’t waste time in the middle of nowhere.”

They fell in again, Ulysses beside her. “Think we'll hit it tonight?”

“Dawn, likely.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Too old to spend all night walkin’ anymore. And you ain’t had a solid night’s sleep in a few days.”

“Have to see what hold the Bull has there,” he said. “Could be an outpost, or barely manned… No way to know.”

Adal shook her head, tucking a wayward bit of hair behind her ear. “We don’t know enough about _anything_ right now. Hell, I didn’t even know the Legion had more’n one legate until last night.”

“Regional commanders,” Ulysses said. “Save whoever Caesar appointed his second, leading his field army. Rest of them were tied to their territory, kept it manned, population in line. No reason to bring them to the Mojave, most of all Venator. Colorado was still a raw wound, establishing Legion forces.”

“’Venator’,” she said. “If Lanius was the Butcher, what’s this guy?”

“Hunter.” Ulysses watched the horizon a moment, and Adal followed his gaze until he looked away. “Hunting you, Courier.”

“Ain’t doing a very good job, hasn’t found me yet,” she said. She snorted. “Him and his little baby Caesar. Reincarnated, who honestly buys that? More’n likely it’s whatever boy he could find, one born around when I pulled the Fort down.”

“Most likely. But the name has weight, and Legion’s learned to believe what they’re told,” Ulysses said. “From the Limitanei’s reports, Flagstaff’s first to be put to the blade. Use that victory to drive his men at you. Venator was at Lanius’ hand as he burned through to Denver. Served under him, he’s seen how the Bull builds its myths.”

“The Bull,” she said. “What symbol was Flagstaff using, again? A bird?”

“Eagle,” he said.

“That's a little on the nose, huh?” She nodded at the top of his staff. He snorted. “The Bear, the Bull, and the bird, and Vegas stuck in the middle.”

“Under the blackjack,” he said. “Tidy.”

“You picked it, my man.”

There were plants growing along the standing water in the wash, a bit of the most lush land she'd seen in awhile. They gave up the river for a road, running straight along its course, to a low pond built up behind a broken dam. Adal watched it as she walked, the wet smell and soft lapping of the water soothing after so long in barren desert.

“Quiet.”

“Quiet what?”

“Humming.” 

Adal shot him a guilty look, listened until her ears rang. “I don't hear anything.”

“Being watched. Don't look,” he said, not changing pace. “Listen.”

She side-eyed him. “If you're bein’ paranoid…” She put a hand on his arm so she could walk with her eyes closed. She tuned out their footsteps, the rattle and creak of their gear.

Soft chirrups, a patter of feet. “Thought those were bugs,” she said, low. A dog barked somewhere, was hushed. “Damn. Who?”

“Can't say.” They slowed, letting the men catch up. They sidled into the shadows of the cars on the highway, bottlenecked as they had tried to cross the bridges.

“Heard them too?” Seneca said.

Adal gave him a look. Was she the only one who hadn't…? “Yeah. If they were Legion, they'd have jumped by now. There. On the ridge.”

The stars were bright so far in the wilds, silhouetting the figures scurrying along the far side of the river, the narrow valley it had cut downstream of the dam. “Tribals, you think?”

“On old Legion territory? Doubtful.” Seneca had a hand on his machete. “Raiders. Thieves.”

A hiss from beside one of the vehicles. Weapons were trained on it, and the scout Vitis hissed, “Turn back! They already—”

There was a whoop ahead, a fire bursting to life on the bridge blocking their path. Adal looked away from the light, dazzled, facing the dam instead. “ _Hell_ ”

“Gone too long,” Ulysses said, grim. A corpse hung on the side of the dam, one wearing Limitanei gear, blood streaking the concrete beneath him.

A spear shattered on the road beside them, and she had her rifle up in a blink. One shot, two, and a runner toppled off the far bridge. Around her, the Limitanei formed up, drawing guns. She came up short as they stepped into her line of fire, shielding her.

“The f—” She backed up, trying to get clear. One of them dodged too slow, dropping to a knee to rip a spear out of his gut. A shout from behind them, a line of men breaking from the cluster of cars at their rear. “Hell with this!” She dragged him back behind the line, taking his place and snapping off a shot at the raiders.

Seneca called an order, and the men moved as one, away from the bridge. “ _Trahite gladius!_ ”

The guns were slung, machetes drawn. They rushed the raiders, crashing into them with such ferocity the rearmost turned to flee. They made it scant steps before the Limitanei caught them.

Adal hung back, crouching to shield behind a car. The raiders on the bridge had less cover, were picked off as they tried to flank.

“Fuck this,” she said. Ulysses was still at her side, staff set aside in favor of that monster rifle of his. “We just gonna hole up here until they get bored?”

“Short of options,” he said, trying to sight on the far cliff. He grunted when his target ducked out of view. “No high ground to take.”

The sounds of battle faded behind them, wary footsteps replacing it as the Limitanei rejoined them. “More on the far side of the bridge,” Seneca said, adjusting the grip on his machete. “They’ll be vulnerable while they—”

The gunfire intensified, and they all ducked, but there was no _zip!_ of bullets overhead. There was the cry of ‘grenade’, and she shaded her eyes. The flash only gave her an impression of the attackers across the bridge, walking in tight ranks, the banner carried by the foremost unmistakable.

She heard safties snap off behind her, guns reloaded and rounds chambered. “Fall back. Take cover,” she said, creeping back behind the vehicles.

“Domina?” The Limitanei were still watching the fight, tense.

“Outnumbered. _Cover!_ ” she hissed. They spread out, slinking back along the road. Adal rolled under a car, dragging one of the bodies closer to hide her. Across from her, Ulysses tucked himself into the bed of a pickup lain on its side, behind the cab. Without even a rustle, he drew the wicked SMG he kept under his coat, better in the close than staff or rifle.

The sounds of fighting died down. Orders were called between the Legionaries, counts on wounded and dead. She checked that her feet were fully under the vehicle, taking shallow breaths. Footsteps closed in, and she turned her head a fraction to peer around the corpse’s shoulder

The boots stopped an armspan away, reaching down to roll another body. This close, she could make out his armor, painted over and patched with scrap, but clearly former Legion make. “Degenerates. Are there any left alive?”

“More of their own dead, one strung up on the dam. Must have fallen to fighting between themselves.” He turned away, facing Ulysses for a flicker of a second. Adal reached for her pistol, trapped by the tight quarters and lay of her duster. “Nothing worth recovering.”

“Filth. Better we're rid of them.” The boots stepped out of sight, back where they had come. “Back to town, men, leave the bodies for the geckos. Our prisoner still secure?”

She waited for the footsteps to fade, counted another hundred heartbeats. The corpse was cool to the touch by the time she rolled it away, standing up with a hand on her gun. “The hell. That was too fucking close.” She looked out over the bridges, the way they had left. “Prisoner? That ain’t their way…”

“Only if there’s something to gain, keeping them alive,” Ulysses said, standing.

“If they weren't looking for us yet, our spy hasn’t ratted us out,” she said. Her eyes narrowed. “What d’you think they’d do to a man come running out of my territory, claiming he was a spy? He be worth keeping alive?”

“Any sense in him, he’d be dressed as one of their own. Not a prisoner,” Ulysses said, frowning back at her.

“If nothing else, we have a road to Sedona,” Seneca said, indicating the Legionaries’ path, kneeling beside the injured man.

“If we got an edge on them, it ain’t much of one,” she said, shaking her head. “Here, I got stimpaks...”

They had rags and healing powder ready, hesitating as she approached. They gave the stimpak misgiving looks until Seneca grumbled and took it himself. “To the wound itself?”

“Put everything in that goes back in, hold it shut, and the needle into the muscle,” she said, pulling a vial and syringe from her pack. “Stimpak will close most wounds, but won’t stop infection. Not always, anyway, definitely not for a gut shot.”

He looked askance as she drew up a bit of liquid, holding pressure on the wound. “Domina, I accept a stimpak as a…benign treatment. But other chems serve to weaken the human condition, and—”

“Oh—” _bite me_ “—lighten up. You can’t _breed out_ going septic from having shit swimming around in your abdomen. Make a fist.” The injured man—the youngest of them, not yet a veteran by his armor—complied, despite being pale and shaking. He rolled his head to watch her raise a vein and sink the needle, not even flinching. “Antibiotics. The Followers say they’ve saved hundreds, since I got them a steady supply.” He continued to frown. “We already lost one man tonight, Seneca. Unless you want another to die slow and ugly, you’ll let this go.”

He bowed his head. “Yes, Imperatrix.”

The rest of men had gone to the dam, hauling a rope. Adal straightened to watch, uneasy, as they carried the body back to the roadside. Without a word, they worked to lay him flat, arms crossed over his chest. His weapons were gone, and one of them took a machete from one of the dead raiders and closed his hand around the hilt.

“Not full honors,” Ulysses murmured, beside her. “Most bodies are burned, keeps disease from spreading.”

They bowed their heads over their comrade. She heard Latin, the man's name, Drusus. “Funny,” she said. “Walker wouldn't do too different.” She shrugged when he looked at her, pulled her arms closer. “Leave ‘em in a safe place at a roadside, feet towards the path. Let the animals at the body to turn it into good dirt. Keep their knife in their hand, so their spirit has it when they walk.”

He was still watching, considering. He nodded. “Buried ours. Gave them back to earth.”

Not sure what else to offer, she said, “Pain in the ass, digging through hardpan."

“Whole tribe took a turn. Helped them go to their rest,” he said. The Limitanei stepped away, turning their attention to the fallen raiders, patting down bodies for ammo. Ulysses hefted his staff, expression coming back to neutral. “Follow along the Legion's path. Should take us straight to Sedona.”

As they walked, Adal slipped a hand into his, intending to give it a squeeze and let go. Instead, he held on tight.


	4. Chapter 4

Ulysses knotted the sash at Adal’s hip, smoothing the fabric over her back. “Small town. Likely not many Legion holding it.”

“Still don't like this,” she said, adjusting where it fell on her chest. Donated by one of the men, the muddy blue faded against her duster, even in the morning sun. “Rather be there to watch your back.”

“Walked into worse, Courier.” He gave it one last tug, making sure it covered the symbol on her back, rested is hand on her waist. “This Marius…Still some trust to be had, between agents of the Bull. Possibly. Force a gun in his hand, faced with the Courier.”

She pressed her lips thin, watching him over her shoulder, but said nothing. The pair of Limtanei tasked with guarding her were facing away, down the slope into town. Close as he was, he almost moved to kiss her, thought better of it. “Better you stay out here, yourself. More to lose if you're taken.”

She grabbed the front of his duster as he stepped away, pulled him down to her lips. “Like hell. I'm the only other one doesn't look like Legion.” The youngest of the men had turned to watch them, giving them an offended look. She flapped a hand, and he turned back. “I'll keep out here unless we spot him incoming, then I got no choice but to follow. Sunset, and we regroup out here with the men, never mind if we found our spy or not.”

“Sunset,” he agreed. Ulysses laid a hand on her arm as he left, circling wide before heading towards the heart of the town. The place had been a loose sprawl, the outskirts lost to time and weather. Only the core of it was still occupied, near the river and in the shadow of a mesa. As he wound through the ruins, he spotted one of the Limitanei pacing along an abandoned road, and Seneca raised a hand. _Good hunting._

He tipped his head back to him, continuing on. The occupied part of town was crumbling brick and adobe buildings, watchtowers of scrap wood and metal in the east and west approaches. In the morning light, he caught a flash of binoculars, a Legionary on watch. Likely more than one squad, then, one to patrol and one to hold a town this size. Sixteen men minimum, against their nine, plus any townsfolk allowed weapons…

He kept a steady pace, wandering through the town, a courier passing through. It was beginning to wake, people giving him a wide berth and curious looks as they passed. A pair of Legionaries were stationed at the crossroads in the center of town, watching the traffic. He kept the townies between them, watching for armor in the crowd, flags overhead. Intuition took him north, and to the sound of shouts, men drilling.

A field had been cleared of debris, set up with tents. Ulysses didn’t let himself pause or stare as he walked, but counted, estimated—room enough to house a full century, easily, though lightly occupied. A prospect to give even the Courier pause.

So of a potential hundred men, where to find their spy?

He turned a corner of the camp, keeping it to his right. Sunrise saw it at full wake, squads coming in from patrol, others heading out, training, going about other business. Only the highest and lowest of the Legion were still, those with the authority to observe their men training, or slaves, huddled over pots and cooking fires…or one who was neither, leaning against a storehouse, behind a chain-link gate.

Ulysses moved with the currents of the town, using the few civilians who came this way as cover, the gaze of the guards a physical pressure to turn away. He wove into the tents, eyes ahead; purpose in his movements enough to deter the curious. He kept his eyes open still, cover and shadow taking him to a circuitous route to the storehouse.

The Legionary inside the cell slumped against the wall, arms folded. His armor was gone, likely in a search for weapons, but still with the red cingulum of a prime or veteran fighter. He had pulled his scarf over his face against the dust kicked up by the camp, a pair of goggles pushed up on his brow. He narrowed his eyes, the scars around one crinkling, but kept them forward as Ulysses swept up, pressing against the wall around the corner. “Marius. Of the Limitanei.”

He heard him shift, out of sight. “Most recently. Though _you_ are the last I would expect to come from the West.”

Ulysses propped his staff against his shoulder, watching the edge of the camp. “Last place I expected to see a Legion Frumentarius.”

Marius scoffed, but quietly. “You defected long before I did. Still going by Ulysses?”

“I am,” he said, watching a Legionary crossing between the tents.

“Heard rumors the White Legs saw you off. No chance that rabble could have managed,” Marius said. His voice dropped further, a rustle as he leaned closer to the corner. “If you’ve come to kill me, do it fast. They’re waiting for one of Venator’s centurions to return from Phoenix before I’m tortured for information.”

“Depends on your interest in Vegas.” There were voices close, too close, and he dropped to a crouch, hands finding weapons. “Won’t risk my life, freeing a man of no use.”

Marius muttered something, below hearing. “Caesar’s n—all _hells_ , man. I trained under you, as Frumentarii, and you sit there and ask if I am _useful_. Get me out of here alive, and I’ll prove it.” A pause. “Unless you came back to Venator’s fold, and are doing the centurion’s work for him.”

“Fell for the Bull’s lies once. Not a mistake I’ll make twice,” Ulysses said. “Who are you working for?”

“No time.” A shout went up on the far edge of camp, a challenge and response. He heard Marius crouch, voice level with him. “They caught me returning to a contact in Sedona, called my bluff on being one of theirs. If you can’t get me out, give me a knife, anything. If I can’t get my information where it’s needed, at least keep it from the Legate.”

Ulysses was silent, watching a squad filter past the command building, towards the tents. One glanced his way, and he stayed still, willing him to see him as one more chance shadow.

“The Temple. I work for Flagstaff and the Temple.” A few of the men changed course, heading towards them. Hurried, grim, Marius hissed, “I don’t know what angle you’re working, man, but _act_.”

“What business could possibly put you in this camp, civilian?”

“Ave,” he called. He palmed a knife from his boot as he stood, keeping it low, behind his back. “Word travels fast. On orders from Venator, taking this prisoner to him.”

He felt Marius take the knife from his hand. The Legionary before him didn’t react, nor the two flanking him. “We’ve gotten no orders on that count.”

“Was the one bringing them,” he said. “Find your commanding officer. We’ll settle this.”

The Legionary rested a hand on the handle of his machete. “Word travels from here to Flagstaff and back, in half a night? Fast indeed.”

“You doubt the Legion’s Frumentarii? Its couriers?” He put a sneer in it; arrogance, ease, everything that made one _superior_ under the Bull. “Get your centurion. _You_ will be the one to hang for questioning us.”

***

Adal sat on a rusted-out refrigerator, stretching out her legs. “So it really doesn’t bother you guys? Taking orders from me?”

“No, Domina. We have pledged our lives to you,” the youngest of them, Fulvius, said. He winced as he sat up straighter against what was left of the building’s wall. Already fair, he was downright pallid after his gut wound.

“Gathered as much,” she said, waving for him to settle. She balanced her open tin on her knee, evening out the pile of tobacco on the paper. “Legion I ran into in my time didn’t think too highly of women.”

“We are eager to cast off the shadow of the Legion,” he said, painfully earnest. She tried not to smile. “You are our most worthy leader, defeating Lanius in single combat.”

“That mean all women get that respect?” she said, restarting for a tighter roll.

“All…?” Fulvius looked concerned. “Well, no, you are far more than a mere…”

Adal sighed. Finishing up the cigarette, she stuffed it in her pocket and started another. “You wanna help your friend out?”

The other Limitanei was perched in the ruins of the building’s upper level, watching the roads into town. She almost did another double-take as she looked up, straight black hair and bronze skin that made her search his face for a trace of the Walker, but he didn’t even glance down. “I’m certain I have no input, Domina.”

“What’s your name?”

“Marcus, madam.”

“Well, Marcus, do you ‘have no input’ because you don’t care,” she paused to lick the edge of the paper, “or because you’re tryin’ not to offend me?”

She saw his throat bob. He could see the dilemma as well as she. “Madam, I believe I am tasked with watching the roads. Debating policy is a dangerous distraction.”

Adal snorted. “Aelius did pick some diplomatic ones, didn’t he? I’m looking for honest answers, boys. See where you stand.”

Marcus swallowed again. Fulvius clutched at his knees where he sat. “We were taught, in the Legion, that women are…” Adal nodded, encouraging. “That they are stupid and vain.” He flinched. She just kept rolling cigarettes, watching him. “And, uh. I haven’t, haven’t met enough to know. Our centurion was more concerned with building fortifications than having us interact with civilians.”

“See, that wasn’t hard. Good honest words,” she said, pointing a cigarette at him. “You got a decent head on your shoulders, kid. Willin’ to make your own decisions. Don’t lose that.”

He seemed to swell with the praise, even if he made a face as his wound pulled. In his perch, Marcus snorted. “You got something to add?” she called, examining the next roll-up. Sorry looking thing, better to burn it than save it.

“Independent thought was beaten out of most in the Legion. Quite literally,” he said. “A soldier is more effective when he trusts in his superiors, in their orders. Doubt on the battlefield will kill not only the Legionary who entertains it, but potentially his squad, his formation, and cause the loss of the entire battle.”

“So y’only tagged along ‘cause you were ordered?” Yup, she needed a smoke, damn them. The breeze would keep them from smelling it too much.

“Aelius chose Seneca to accompany you, and as his men, we were bound to follow,” he said. “I cannot question these orders, if they found it most logical. They have my trust.”

“You believe in what the Limitanei are doing? In the Mojave surviving independent?” Fulvius wrinkled his nose a little as she exhaled smoke. “Hell, you have any trust in _me?_ ”

Silence, with his eyes on the horizon. “I believe my superiors have told me…” More slowly, picking his words. “Following you is our best chance to die a glorious death in battle, under a proud banner.”

“And that’s it?”

“That is it.”

“Hm.” Adal watched the smoke from the end of the cigarette, whisked away by the breeze. “I ain’t turning down the help, want you to know that. But I ain’t driving a slave army like Caesar did. You got input, speak up.”

Fluvius nodded eagerly. Marcus adjusted his grip on his sniper rifle and said, “As you wish, Domina.”

The sun tracked higher, headed towards noon, and her cigarette burned to a stub. She dropped it in her pocket rather than on the ground, feeling for another, but her tin was light enough to make her reconsider.

“On the west road,” Marcus called, dropping to the ground. Adal moved to a crouch, keeping below the edge of the wall as she stepped up beside him. He offered her his rifle, and she peered through the scope at the road, the mass of red and black bodies on it coming into focus. “Several squads, coming in from patrols. Veterans at their head, vexillarius… part of a larger formation.”

“Fuck,” she said, ignored his frown. “Bad odds. No way we’re gonna spot our guy in the middle of this.”

“Shall we retreat, until it is time to rendezvous?” Marcus asked, taking his gun back.

She pursed her lips, considered the sun. “No. Hold tight for now. Keep the perimeter around the town.”

“Yes, madam.”

They pressed back into the ruins regardless, the shadows of the buildings giving some sense of safety. Glancing to the southern road, Adal hissed, gesturing for the two of them to stay down.

Another group was coming up the south road, beside the river. “Centurion at their head.” Marcus had raised his rifle to sight on them. “Still too distant to be any—”

“Shh!” She froze, ears straining. Footsteps crunched on gravel, outside their building. Looking up, both the men were watching her. Drawing her knife, Adal pointed to Fulvius, then to he collapsed wall, away from the noise. He didn’t even nod, moving at a crouch with his machete drawn. He peered around the wall, uphill, down, and beckoned them to follow.

Adal gestured Marcus to go first, stepping along his tracks. The quality of the footsteps changed as they crouched behind the wall, the intruders kicking rubble aside as they entered the building. Adal waved downhill, to the next row of ruins.

The low scrub gave them cover as they descended, and Adal glanced at the roads through the gaps. The group on the south road had filtered into the town, out of sight, but still too close for comfort. Glancing uphill, she held her breath. A Legionary had stepped out of their building, shading his eyes as he scanned the ruins. He called something, pointing past her, just to her right.

Adal crept along behind a thicket, keeping it between her and them. She counted four, but no guarantee that was all of them. A look over her shoulder saw the Limitanei hunkering beside a shed. Marcus had his rifle up, and she slashed a hand at her throat, gestured with her knife. He shot a look at the Legionaries, but slung the weapon.

One set of footsteps stopped, the rest trailing downhill. She turned, slowly. A Legionary was moving towards the shed, bringing a shotgun to hand. Her men pressed back, and Adal poked her head up as he passed her, checking that the patrol was out of sight.

He started to turn as she stood, but her arm was around his throat, her knife sunk once, twice into his back. She dragged him down, muffling his voice, pinning him until he ceased to struggle. When he stilled, she gestured back uphill, to the cleared building, safety.

Marcus snuck up the slope without turning a stone, taking cover at the corner and raising his rifle. Fulvius followed, and Adal crouched in the bushes, watching the building downhill. One of the Legionaries stepped clear, and she tried to wave for Fulvius to take cover. The Legionary’s machete was half-drawn when a high-power rifle round reduced his head to pulp.

“Jackass!” she snarled, and Marcus lowered his gun. Feet pounded up the slope, and Fulvius turned, feinting low and burying his machete in the Legionary’s neck.

The fourth had already broken away, towards town. “Round up the others, _quietly_ , meet up to the north!” she yelled, charging after.

***

“You want the centurion? Fine. We’ve empty crosses enough.”

Ulysses swept an eye at the Legionaries who had stalled, watching them. More were entering the camp from the west, organizing themselves into the field of tents. The rest of the century.

He kept his hands on his staff, visible. One of them took half a step forward, reaching as if to take it, but Ulysses stopped him with a look. Their leader turned, leading them to the next building down, larger, better kept; headquarters. From the corner of his eye, he saw Marius lean back on the wall, arms folded, knife tucked against the inside of his wrist.

Ulysses clenched his teeth. An agent of Flagstaff, reporting to the priestesses there, and no easy way to get him out alive. _I trained under you_. He thought back, other scouts, couriers, picked for being clever, observant. Seemed to recall a Temple-raised recruit, sharp and quiet but inclined to jump at shadows. Tribal-born, he’d guessed; those recruited by force tended towards fear.

A waste, dying now. He sighed through his nose as they approached the command building. There was a gap between it and the storehouse, a quick escape. He shifted his grip on his staff, a hand going to his gun. One Legionary behind him, take him out, and—

The gunshot was faint, but large caliber to carry so clearly. Heads came up throughout the camp, looking south. South, to the Courier’s position.

“You men, keep this prisoner under watch,” the one leading him said, waving to a squad. “What the hell is…”

He trotted away, and the squad stepped closer, measuring him. Veterans, heavily armed—no easy fight, even without a century backing them. Looking south, a new group had entered the camp. One voice was raised above the others, a figure in a crested helm pointing, calling orders.

Ulysses took a slow breath. Bide. If she was captured, better he was here. Slim chance of him fighting his way free alone. Liked his odds more with her at his side.

***

The scout was barely trying to stay hidden. Adal swore under her breath as she ran, the fucker _knew_ she wouldn’t risk shooting.

The buildings were in slightly better shape further downhill, some with signs of habitation. The Legionary cut left around one, and she swung right, jumping a fence between two homes. He tried to skid to a stop, but she landed nearly on top of him, knife aiming for his throat.

He blocked the blow, grabbing her wrist. Adal dropped the knife, snagging it in her left and hand driving it into his side where his armor gapped. With a strangled sound, he twisted away, the knife bound up between his ribs and pulling from her hand. She reached after it, and stars exploded in her eyes, made her lose her grip and stagger back.

She shook her head to clear it, trying to follow his running footsteps. “Piece of shit,” she said, feeling where the butt of his machete had landed. “ _Fight me!_ ”

Her vision cleared, and she looked up. The south watchtower loomed above them. He was leaving a blood trail now, and Adal scrambled through her pack as she ran, hand closing on the handle of a heavier knife. She hung back between the buildings, boots on the road ahead, a group of Legionaries running south to where she and the Limitanei had camped.

There was a wheeze from across the street, the injured scout unable to call to them with the wound in his side. He froze, then dove deeper between the buildings as she broke across the road. He was flagging now, holding his ribs and gasping for air, and barely noticed as she caught up to him.

She wiped both the knives clean, sticking hers back through her belt and sheathing the other in her pack. Shouts were picking up in the town, calm, orderly—searches being arranged.

Adal glanced down. She shook her head and got a grip on the scout’s armor, dragging him into a building.

***

“Delay’s unacceptable. Venator wanted the traitor _today_.”

The decanus barely glanced at him, the rest of his captors watching the camp scramble to action. “Centurion’s decision.”

“Venator’s decision,” Ulysses shot back. He saw the decanus set his mouth, but he said nothing. “You would cross him? Only man worthy of becoming the next Caesar, and you disobeying his orders.”

“His Legate,” one of the others said. “Venator won’t take Cesar’s place.”

Ulysses lifted his chin, looking down at him, tried to let the expression speak on its own. The Legionary gave him a sidelong look. “Caesar was reborn, in the moment of his death in the Mojave.” The rest of the men turned to Ulysses, and the first drew a gun. “If you were one of his men, you would know that.”

Another Legionary jogged up, scout’s armor disheveled, adjusting the fit of his leather cap. “Go back to your posts. Commander wants him.”

The decanus glanced at the centurion, still standing in the camp, conferring with his men. “Better he questions the prisoner here.”

The scout sighed, the bandanna over his face fluttering. Ulysses tensed, tried to keep his expression neutral. “You want to argue with him, be my guest.” Adal reached out, took a fistful of his duster and pressed a pistol to his back. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

He let her lead him in the centurion’s general direction. “They still watching us?” she whispered.

He risked a glance back. “Breaking up.”

“Good.” She changed direction, felt her holster the pistol. “North.”

“Were meeting up—”

“ _North!_ ” she hissed. Ulysses looked back at her, pausing at the sight of the supply building—and the cell door hanging open, lock broken. “They did a sweep of the ruins, found us, and—”

An explosion made the entire camp jump, part of the command building collapsing in a gout of flame. The Legionaries around them ran towards it, calling for water, sand, and he and the Courier charged against the rush. As they crossed the clearing beyond the edge of the tents, she tossed her rifle and pack at him, the corner of her duster sticking out under the flap.

“Told the men to regroup up here,” she said, shucking out of the armor and bloody tunic, her own gear still on under it. “We find our spy?”

“Yes. He’s free, don’t know where,” Ulysses said.

“The _hell,_ man,” she said. There was a stand of trees as they hit the slope, and he slowed long enough to hand her her duster. “We come all this way to stop this guy, and you just—”

“Flagstaff’s agent. Don’t think he was with the assassin,” he said. Her pack was still open in his hand, and he caught something as it fell out, a sheathed knife, the handle made of rough horn.

“Fuck.” She grabbed it and stuffed it back in the pack, still walking, throwing the strap over her head. “Well, fuckin’ peachy. Now we just have to shake off every Legionary in Sedona.”

There was a whistle ahead, and they both looked up, tense. Seneca raised a hand to them. “I assume we’re making a quick getaway.”

“Fast as we can, in daylight,” she said, drawing herself up a little straighter, more serious. “Everyone here?”

“Yes, Domina,” he said, leading them uphill. “What is our destination?”

The rest of the contuberina was coming alert, in the entrance to a canyon. Adal waved a hand at them. “Flagstaff, long term. But you all know Arizona better’n me, so where’s safe, right _now?_ ” There was a gunshot from behind them, and she kicked up into a run. “Ah. Not here.”

“Along the river, for now,” Ulysses said. “Find somewhere to hole up, let them pass us—”

The Limitanei called a warning, training guns on the slope of the canyon. A figure in a red tunic stopped short, a rag half-tied over a bloody arm. “They’re on my tail. We need to move.”

“The hell are you?” the Courier said, coming to a halt.

Marius stopped dead, nearly fell on the slope. “Our spy,” Ulysses said, touching her arm. Lower, “Can’t _wait_ here, Courier. Move!”

They both shot him an annoyed look, and he lagged behind as they caught up the Limitanei.


	5. Chapter 5

Adal’s heart was in her ears, more than the exertion of the run. She kept glancing over at the newcomer—Marius—hoping she was wrong.

He was looking back, scarf still over his face, goggles hiding his eyes. Adal faced ahead and pushed harder, looking to the canyon before them. “Anywhere we can rest? Hole up until dark?”

“Less familiar with this area.” Seneca barely seemed winded, and Adal briefly considered smoking less. “Maybe a side canyon, a cavern.”

“There’s several in this stretch.” Adal tensed as Marius drew level. “They’ll be watching them, but it might buy us time.”

“Varro! Quintus!” Two of the Limitanei saluted, one with a super sledge, the other a submachine gun. “Go ahead and lay false trail. Domina?”

She nodded to Marius. “Find us somewhere.”

He led them deeper into the canyon, mesas sweeping up on either side. A narrow cut in the eastern face led into the cliffside, a fold in the stone hiding the depth of it. “Dead end,” Ulysses muttered, watching the men file in.

“There’s a ladder out, at the back,” Marius said, brushing a pile of bracken off a footlocker. “Our agents have used this spot for supplies since the Legion dissolved.”

Adal rubbed at her eyes. “Whatever. Everyone who can, rest until sundown. I’ll take first watch.”

The Limitanei glanced at each other before settling. Marius pulled a bottle of brownish sludge out of the footlocker. “I got a stimpak, if you want it,” Adal said, not looking at him.

He hesitated, then uncapped the bitter drink. “This serves.”

He tugged his scarf down, and she turned away, putting them all out of sight behind the bend in the ravine. She crouched down, just able to peer down into the main canyon, and fumbled after a cigarette. She was halfway down it when she heard Ulysses settle beside her. “You ought to rest,” she rasped.

Ulysses rested a hand on her shoulder, and she pressed her own over it, closing her eyes tight. “Courier. What’s…”

Adal shook her head. “I can’t…”

“Marius.” She managed to nod. Gently, from him, “Who is he?”

The words caught in her throat. She took another drag on the cigarette, hand shaking. “He…” Something between a cough and a sob escaped her. “He looks so much like his father.”

His hand pulled away. She clutched at it, and he put an arm across her shoulders as she clenched her teeth, rubbing at her eyes. She heard him take a breath, swallow. “A _son?_ ”

“Yeah,” she rasped.

“A son…” He shifted, rubbing at her arm. “Assumed, by your words, you had...”

“Have,” she said, and the word was like a punch in the gut. Adal wiped at her face, took another drag. “Looks just like his da,” she whispered. Same dark eyes, sharp mouth and sour expression. Her hand shook, tipping ash from the end of the light. “My Alam. Just like, goddamn him…”

“Courier,” Ulysses said, low. She shook her head, looked away. More gently, “Adal.”

She shook her head again, waved her cigarette as she stood. “You’re gonna smell like smoke.”

He made a frustrated sound, reaching out for her as she stepped away. “No. Fuck me, I can’t— Can’t do this right now. I’m neck-deep in bastards who want me dead. Can’t choke here,” she said, working the smoke down to a stub before grinding it under her boot. She couldn’t face him. “ _Domina_. The Lady in Vegas, fucking Lady Luck. If that’s what people want’f me, I can’t afford to look weak.”

“This...man,” he said, almost uncertain. She watched him sidelong, his head bowed. “Realize any memory you might have, who he was, the child...Legion killed who he was. Marius, now, no matter what name—”

“Don’t you fucking _talk_ to me about _dead children_ ,” she grated, grabbing the front of his duster. He held up his hands, tried to step back. “What do you think it was like?” she said, giving him a shake. “See them taken, come to the Mojave a lifetime later. You know how many Legion I killed? How many the right age? You think I didn’t have to stop from looking? You know what it _takes_ , convincing yourself it’s better _not to know_ if you shot your own son?” She bared her teeth and let him go, folding her arms to hide how she shook. “Good fucking _luck_ they killed the older boy _for_ me.”

“Adal…”

She turned away as he reached out, unable to tolerate the look in his face. She stared out at the main canyon, and once she found her voice again, “You oughta rest. When’d you even sleep last?” An ache was starting in her back, her chest, and she forced herself to breathe around it, instead of falling to her knees, crying, screaming…

“Same as you. Should rest, yourself.”

“Couldn’t sleep if I wanted to,” she said. She ran her fingers through her hair, letting out a long breath. “You tell anyone I got this upset over _anything_ , I’ll kill you,” she muttered.

Ulysses nodded. “No death wish today, courier.” He laid a hand on her arm, stroking it with a thumb. “Stronger than this,” he said, quiet. “Held on this long. Won’t break you now.”

Adal kept her eyes on the ground in front of her, hoping he was right.

***

Even the men, well-conditioned and used to rough living, had suffered from pushing through the night and into day. Seneca had relieved her after an hour on watch, and she had staggered back into the cut, almost shaking with fatigue. The Limitanei leaned against the walls, weapons close to hand, one or two opening their eyes as she passed. Marius sat apart from them, atop a boulder, the breastplate from a set of combat armor over his tunic. She barely caught the motion as he shut his eyes, faced away.

Marius. Alam.

Ulysses roused enough to put an arm over her when she settled beside him, deeper still in the cut. She used her pack as a pillow, curled up on herself and trying not to dig her nails into her arm. Alam, who followed sharp-tongued Jeth like a shadow, with clever mender’s hands and bright eyes, who teased his brother until he threw fits, knew just what thread to pull…

She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached. Did he remember her? Remember the Walker? The Legion, as they murdered the hunters and placed their elder on a cross, and her…

_The smell of smoke, and pain, pain, pain. Blood in her mouth and screams in the air, hers, theirs, hands on her, couldn’t breathe—_

Footsteps. Adal scrambled up, nearly fell with a hand on the canyon wall. _Legion_ a Legionary standing there as she scrambled for her rifle—

“Domina?”

She shuddered, picked her rifle up by the sling instead of the stock. “What’s happening?”

“They know we haven’t left the canyon,” Seneca said, looking at a point over her shoulder. “The Legion are combing the area. Our time here is up.”

“Right. Yeah,” she said, smoothing down the hairs on the back of her neck. “Yeah. There was a ladder back here, is what…he said.”

Ulysses had sat up as she woke, stood as Seneca saluted and left. “Moving on?”

“Already,” Adal said. The light through the canyon was lower, more golden, an hour to dark. “Hell. Gonna be exposed…”

“Be a hard run,” Ulysses agreed. He reached out as she settled her pack, and she leaned away as he brushed at her face. “Not able to handle this, courier, could bring an end to Vegas.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She wiped at her cheeks, scrubbing away the tear tracks.

Ulysses watched her, level and serious. “Think this is...more complicated now. Need you at your clearest.”

 _Think_ I _need you to shut the hell up about it._ Adal took one breath, two, swallowing it down. “It’s under control. I _know_ what the stakes are, in this.”

“Long as that stays true.”

She matched him, look for look. “Look here, you s… Ulysses. Knew I was probably gonna get in over my head out here, that’s why I wanted you. This is riding on you backing me up, as much as me making things work with Flagstaff.”

“Riding on you staying focused, in light of distraction,” he said, stepping closer. “They know something’s wrong,” he said, low enough to make her lean in. “Can see you’re shaken. Want to impress anyone, lead them, this _softness_ won’t do.”

“Soft—”

“Spent years thinking him dead, better to continue. Need a leader, not a woman.”

Low and vicious, “What the fuck is that supposed to--”

“We await your orders, Domina.” She bit her teeth as Seneca came into view, the Limitanei behind him.

“Yeah. Let's go. Hate to hold anyone back,” she said, stalking deeper into he ravine.

“Wanted my help,” Ulysses said, just off her shoulder. “Trying to give it.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she hissed.

“Know how many emperors died at the hands of their Praetorians?” he said.

Adal refused to turn to him, the rest of the men falling in step behind. Men she didn’t know, couldn’t trust, who loomed over her with guns and armor. Men who had been enemies a year gone, would have been pleased to cut her down.

She nodded to Seneca, Marius at his side. “Sooner we’re there, the better. What’s our route?”

***

The ladder put them high on the slope on the side of the canyon, a narrow path cut into the wall. Adal followed it north, the men falling into line behind. The canyon had been lush once, but only skeletal trees remained standing, giving questionable cover. They moved in ones and twos from boulder to tree to scrub, staying out of sight. Calls could be heard from the north, Legionaries coordinating their searches. A glance ahead showed a line of them sweeping their direction, flushing them south to Sedona.

She waved for the others to spread out, hunting for a spot ahead. As the line of them approached, she tucked herself into the roots of a gnarled tree, dragging a fistful of dried-out brush over the gap.

Adal drew her pistol silently, freezing with it tucked against her body. The valley was in full shadow by now, and few of them carried lights. She took a deep breath, swearing she could her the tree creak as she leaned against it, sure the Legionaries could hear her heart thumping. She didn’t breathe as one passed her, on the far side of the tree, crunching twigs underfoot. She turned her head just far enough to watch him pass, exhaling.

He stepped over a fallen trunk as he moved on. The edge of his tunic caught on a twig, and he turned, holding a shotgun one-handed as he freed the fabric.

He was close enough that Adal could make out the annoyance on his face, pick out a scar cutting across his cheek. Instead of looking up, he muttered under his breath, turning back to the south.

She waited until he was almost lost in the dark before standing. It was slow going, and the sun set in full, last traces of orange fading from the sky. Adal drew to a halt as the canyon hit a bend, one fork headed north, the other east. The men caught up, and she nodded at the gap. “North is shorter to Flagstaff, yeah?”

“Venator holds that stretch,” Marius said, not looking at her, or she at him. “East is our only path.”

“That means they’re watching it.” She pointed to the mesa that split the north and west ravines. “ _That_ go anywhere worthwhile?”

They followed her hand. The mesa had a narrow cut through it, a tributary stream that had worn its own valley.

“Puts us exposed on the mountainside,” Marius said.

“Puts us on the flatlands sooner,” Seneca said. Ulysses nodded. “Go up fast and silent, we could make it unnoticed.”

Marius said nothing, but hung back as the squad overtook him. They moved slow, in clusters again, covering each other as they crept into the depth of the valley, through a sluggish stream. Adal held up a fist at a group passing uphill, glancing back to make sure the rest had hidden. In the growing dark, she couldn’t pick them out. Her hand went to her gun as the patrol neared, ready to draw and fire, until—

“Salve, Domina,” one of them murmured. She focused on them, the two Seneca had sent ahead, looking haggard. She nodded, and resumed her slow creep uphill, into the cut.

The ground was still soft in the stream bed, and they stayed higher in the rocks to hide their tracks. Even then, the loose scree was treacherous in the dark, each slide of a boot kicking up enough noise to set her teeth on edge. She fought to not look back over her shoulder, to lose time watching, waiting. Damn it all, they should have stood and fought, not run, not in hostile territory…

A shout from the Limitanei on point, and her rifle was in hand. A gout of flame went up, and an animal scream from him as he dropped and rolled. Uphill, in the shadow of a boulder, there was a spit of muzzle flashes.

“Ambush!” she screamed, cracking a shot off at the light, no way to know if it hit. Twice, again, diving behind a stand of brush for all the difference it made. The sound of the attackers shifted, moving more firmly into their path.

There was a grunt from the man next to her, but his gun came up again, returning fire. She gritted her teeth hand half-stood, moving from shadow to shadow. Ulysses, his back to a rock, caught sight of her, falling into her footsteps.

The sound died down, the incendiary grenade burned away, both sides taken hits and gone wary. Adal used the break to creep up the valley, freezing when the Legionaries came into sight. One carried the Legion standard, the rest well-armored, well armed, veteran soldiers. Behind a standing rock, she slipped a hand into her pack, holding her find up to Ulysses. He nodded, grim, hands tightening on the SMG. Adal drew her ax and set it beside her before pulling the pin and lobbing the grenade at the line of Legion.

She covered her eyes at the blast and was up, charging as they reeled. The ax didn’t have the weight of her old super sledge, the sheer crushing force, but it had speed, flicking into a backswing quick as a thought, bringing the butt of it into play as she smashed it up into their flag-bearer’s jaw. Behind her, quick, tight bursts of fire kept them from her back, a roar from downhill rising to meet her. They didn’t have time to turn as the Limitanei hit them like a wave.

At their forefront, Seneca swung high with his blade, but the legionary went low. The heavy staff he held sparked at the tip, striking hard at his leg and dropping him to his knees with a grunt. “True to Caesar!” The end of the thermic lance stabbed towards his head, his neck, brushing aside the gladius as Seneca tried to block—

And rolled the man off him as he fell. Adal wrenched the ax out of his spine and held out a hand, hauling the decanus to his feet. She didn’t stop to check if he was injured, whirling to throw herself back into the fight.

The last Legionary fell, and she gestured upstream, panting. “Still behind us. Get out of the choke.”

The slog uphill left her legs feeling like lead. A pair of them carried the burned man between them, dragging, slow. “Leave me,” she heard, between moans of pain. “Leave me.”

“We ain’t…” she started, trailed off.

They approached a final, almost vertical wall of the canyon. Seneca said something fast, in Latin, and they set him down, helping him lean against a rock and steady his rifle. With a word, the men handed each other up over the rockfall, getting partway to pull up the one behind, scaling it fast and clean. They didn’t hesitate to put her in the middle of the pack, and she reached up for them to pass her along.

The flatland at the top of the mesa stretched ahead, and a bullet whined behind them. They jumped, weapons in hand, and Marius waved them on. From his pack, he drew a round metal puck. With a bright _click!_ a red light came to life, and he dropped it on the rocks. He saw them watching, and said, “Go! This will buy time.”

Adal sucked air and threw herself forward, Ulysses beside her. “Where the hell—” she said between strides. “—Hell we going?”

“Anywhere,” he grunted. “Trees. Cover.”

She couldn’t see them in the night, but put her head down and kept going. There was a crack and rumble of mines behind them, and her stride flagged in surprise. She glanced back, barely able to make out Marius trailing at their rear. The squad slowed with her, and she had to turn forward, hoping, hoping he could make up the gap. He had better. He was…

He wasn’t Walker.

She grit her teeth at the thought, drove it away. They were running for their lives, for fuck’s sake.

They slowed as a group, as they hit a thicket of trees, slowing from a flat run to a walk. She could hear all of them panting, too strained to speak, and followed Ulysses as he forged on. The trees rippled around them, a sudden hiss of wind bringing them to life. He set their pace, kicking up into a jog for a stretch, catching their breath at a walk.

The wind was cold, and she shuddered as it bit at the sweat on her skin. “Can’t do this all night,” she said, taking a third step for two of Ulysses’. “You don’t have somewhere we can hide, we’re gonna have to look for one.”

He nodded, stumbling on a loose stone. “Think… Near here. Downhill.” He swept an arm, indicating a cut in the trees downhill. “Road. Takes us somewhere.”

“They’ll be watching the roads.” There was a crack of a gunshot, or a snapping branch on the next gust of wind. Rather than find out, he grimaced and picked up speed. The Limitanei fell back, weapons drawn, and she resisted turning back with them. She looked up instead, the stars blotted out by a thick wave of clouds.

The cut line vanished behind the trees, loomed up again. Adal caught her foot on something that clanged off her boot, and she stared up and down its length.

“Rail line,” she panted. “Rail line, rails mean—We near Circle Junction?”

Ulysses had his hands on his knees, breathing deep. “Not near enough.”

“Then what else you got?”

“We can get there,” Marius said. “Follow east.”

They ground back up into a trot, following the rails.The stars were gone, the heavy clouds encroaching. Adal watched the forest, head on a swivel, as lightning flashed on the horizon. They could guess where they were, cut them off, on such a predictable path as a rail…

A shape moved in the brush, and she got a shot off before tracking what it was. The Limitanei formed around her, still jogging, and their fire was returned. They kept pushing, the gunfire petering out, not bothering to check that the Legionaries were dead, or just following for a better shot.

The storm kept building behind them. The forest thinned and broke, leaving the rail line stretching onto exposed flatlands. Adal could hear the Limitanei dropped behind her, the click of weapons being reloaded, the rattle of gladius being drawn. It plucked at her nerves, each sound from further back, hostile, could hear the Legionaries’ war cries on the wind. She almost tripped as she ran, twisting to watch them, Ulysses catching her arm just in time. “Wait, what? Did we loop…”

The Limitanei staggered to a halt, looking down at the bodies. Legionaries, clustered in a dip beside the rails, heavily armed—and some with blood still running from gunshot wounds. She nudged the head of one, a rifle round clear through his skull. “Have any friends out there?” Ulysses asked, looking to Marius.

“Possibly,” he said, but with an uneasy tone. “My contact in this region isn’t the type to—”

They all jerked at another shot, turning to face it. Lightning flashed, and thunder rolled a moment later, the men already stepping up to a jog. Adal lingered, waiting for another flash, heart in her throat—a person, there had been someone standing on a ridge. Someone standing, watching with a rifle in hand, as the wind picked up, tugging their hood aside—

“Domina? We must move on.”

Adal lowered her head and got moving.

She lost track of time, eyes on the rails, until Ulysses touched her shoulder and she lifted her head. The rails lead to a humped shape on the horizon, a soft glow welling up over the mass. Lightning flashed, scrap-metal walls too dirty to catch the light, but the fortification stood strong against the wind.

“Circle Junction!” she called back, voice nearly swallowed up. Seneca, breathless, nodded and threw his arm up, encouraging his men into one last burst of speed. Adal pushed hard, pulling air through a raw throat and trying to exhale the burn in her legs with it. Head lolling back with exhaustion, she caught a shape on the edge of the wall. She nearly fell as she threw up an arm, catching Ulysses across the chest.

The man on the wall gestured them closer, more men with crossbows flanking him. Her group staggered up, and she saw him draw a bead on her.

“We won’t harbor your kind here,” he called down. “Get your Legion asses out of sight of our town, or we’ll string you up as examples.”

Ulysses glanced at her. She flipped a hand, still wheezing.

“Not Legion,” he said, voice strained. “Fleeing one of their units. We--”

“Then we don’t want your trouble. We lost enough fighters driving them out.” Adal managed to close her mouth and straighten up. Lightning flashed again, and she could make out the gray of his hair, the age on his face. “You lead them on us, you’re worse than dead.”

“This how you answer a favor?” she shouted.

The bowmen wavered. Their leader frowned. “The hell do you--”

“You from here?” He nodded, mouth opening. She gulped air before he got another word in. “Thirty some years back, this place was under siege. Walker tribe broke that siege. One of ours took the head of their boss, calling off the raiders.” Rain started to spit, and she wiped at her cheek. “I’m the last Walker Elder, I done my Trials; built a knife from scratch, walked a lonesome place with nobody but the ghosts, and hunted beasts barehanded; I led a band from danger, to somewhere over a horizon.” She leveled a finger at him. “And I know every goddamn jody worth knowing, including the one where we _saved_ your sorry asses, and that for _thirty years_ we never asked you to repay it. You _owe_ us, Circle Junction!”

He leaned back, muttering to someone. More people had gathered on the wall, spearheads and gun barrels glinting in the flickering of the storm.

“If you’re gonna turn down the last of a people, Circle Junction, the hell you fighting the Legion for?” He lowered is chin, frowning. She shook her head, hands out, empty. “I ain’t leading a siege on you, man. We just need shelter.”

“And they’re Walker, too? Your tribe?” he said, waving his bow at the Limitanei, Marius.

Adal shrugged. “No. But the closest I got now.” The wind was biting cold. Hard and bitter, she said, “You had the Legion here. You know what they did to _tribe_.”

He dropped his gaze from hers, glanced at the ground behind the wall a moment. At last, he nodded. “Hal, get the small gate.”

The crowd broke. A portico opened in the side of the wall. She led the way through, turning to watch her men file in, backwards, weapons trained on the horizon until the last moment. A townie swept the horizon after the last of them entered. He swung it shut, another man dropping a heavy bar across it.

A voice, from behind her. “Surrender your weapons.”


	6. Chapter 6

Between them and the town proper, a handful of men and women had wary hands on pistols and makeshift clubs. A glance above showed the head bowman looking down, flanked by his people, weapons still at the ready. At the head of the crowd on the ground, unarmed, a silver-haired man held out a hand. “Your guns, or we turn you out to whoever’s on your tail.”

Her Limitanei hadn’t put away their weapons, knuckles tight on them. Beside her, Ulysses shifted. The only noise was the patter of rain.

Adal slipped her rifle off her shoulder, holding it out to the headman, barrel to the sky. “Trust you to give ‘em back safe,” she said. “Your name?”

“Medina. Closest thing we got to a mayor here,” he said, taking it.

“Medina. Thank you for your passage.”

Around them, guns and blades were being handed over. Adal passed him her ax and pistol as well, but kept the knife at her belt. He pursed his lips, but only said, “What do you want from us?”

“Shelter, ‘til we get rested up and it’s safe to move on,” she said. Medina tipped his head, face still skeptical. “We’ve run hard to get here, and have a long way to go yet. We’ll trade for supplies, make this worth your while.”

“Where are you headed?” he asked, leading her into town. Rain had started in earnest, drumming down on tarps and empty metal, the thunder rolling. Lightning threw shadows under the railcars lined up inside the city walls, the shacks and lean-tos grown from their sides. He hauled one of the cars open, the door rolling noisily aside on its wheels.

“Headed for Flagstaff,” she said, stepping onto the dead crates that acted as steps.

Medina paused, facing going hard in the light of the storm. “I’ll speak to you alone.”

Adal folded her arms. “I’ll thank you again for having us, but I ain’t a trusting woman. I’ll have someone with.”

“One of those murderers?” He looked at the men, scowling.

“Look, can we get out of the rain or not?”

“You’re not letting her bring a Legionary in there?” One of the women smacked her club into her palm. “The hell is this, Medina? We’re not dealing with _any_ of these fucks.”

She glanced at Ulysses as he flicked an eye at her. “Not Legion,” he said stepping forward. “No ties with them, theirs…”

“Take them to the roundhouse, keep a guard on them,” Medina said. “You. You can come.”

Marius’ head came up, but he turned it into a nod. Adal bit her tongue. “He’s not—”

“Him or no one.”

 _No one!_ “Fine.” She stepped up into the railcar, wiping rain out of her face.

She worked not to stare as Marius followed, examining the desk set up in the far end of the car. The door clanged shut, and Medina stepped in to drop her things on the desk. He sighed as he sat, gesturing for them to do the same. “Now what the hell is this? Last Walker, Legion men running from the Legion—you’ve got explaining to do before you get to wander around my town.”

“Well, I can tell you the truth, Medina, but I ain’t sure that’ll cut it,” she said, drawing up a plastic chair that creaked under her. Marius hung near the door, arms folded. “It’s been a wild few days.”

He rubbed at his face. “Are we in danger?”

“Don’t know.” She shrugged at his expression. “We had at least one squad on us, I know that much, but we accounted for some on the way here. No way to say how many followed, if they’ll send reinforcements.”

“Hiding things gets you out of here slower,” Medina said. Before Adal could open her mouth, he pointed to Marius. “You. You’re Legion? Then why the hell are they after you?”

“I have no stake in this,” he said. Adal turned to look at him, tense and feral, an animal trapped in a corner. “Save your questions for her, I have no need to stay in this city.”

“That’s no fucking answer!”

“Less you know, sir, the safer you probably are,” she said, turning back. “We’re just passing through, with no alliance with those bastards.”

“To Flagstaff.”

She hesitated. Goddamn her for her mouth getting ahead of her. She realized the silence was stretching, without Ulysses to pick up when she choked. “If that’s what you heard, man, you go with that. You don’t want to get into the middle of this.”

“You know, maybe I do,” he said, leaning forward. “Maybe the Legion comes to our doorstep, and I just hand you over for the trouble.”

“Think they’ll deal honest?” she said, staying relaxed where she sat, meeting his eyes. “What was this place, while the Legion held it?”

His jaw clenched. “They traded slaves here,” he said, looking away.

“Those the sort of people you gonna _trust_ to bargain with you? After you having fought them off once?”

“They kept their word to the people of the town, even if that word was ‘compliance or death’,” he said, voice low. “And if they ask for it when they come for you here, my people mean more to me than a stranger.”

“Good to know there’s still honor in the world.” Adal smiled, bitter. “I broke that siege myself, Medina. I’ll break another, it comes to it. But I need safe passage to do it.”

The rain rumbled down against the body of the railcar. Medina sighed. “And you’re going to insist at me you’re not a Legionary, after all? Not here to sell us out?”

Marius shifted his weight, hand going to a weapon not there. “I left them willingly.”

“What does that make you now, then? Mercenary? Raider?” He leaned back, looking him up and down. “I don’t care if you danced on Caesar’s grave yourself, men like you can’t be trusted to come back to—”

“Lay off him, Medina, he’s—”

Marius got a grip on the door, hauling it loudly aside. “If you won’t have me, then I will leave.”

“Like hell,” Adal said, standing. “You’re with us.”

“I am _with_ none of you, now that I’m out of that cell,” he said, not turning away.

“You stay right there. I don’t trust a second of this.” Medina drew a pistol from the back of his belt, leveling at him. “What the _hell_ is _going on?_ Do you expect—”

Adal stepped between them, and his aim wavered. “You wanna know? Put the fucking gun down.”

A bang from the door as it opened the rest of the way, and they turned as one. “Medina, there’s men at the gates, they—” The man froze, a gun and two knives leveled at him.

“What men, Stan?” Medina said, lowering the pistol.

“Legion. They want us to send them a courier, but that doesn’t make any sense, since…”

She looked over her shoulder at Medina, as he took in her coat, her scars. “The _hell_ do you think you’re doing here? Putting all my people in danger?”

“Wasn’t the plan, Medina,” she said, and held out a hand. “My gun. My gun, and I’ll see to these men at your gate.”

“Better we turn you in—”

“Turn me in, strengthen the Legion to your west? Me and mine are the only goddamn thing keeping them off the Dam and giving them a stronghold,” she said, and thrust her hand out again. “ _My gun_ Medina, unless you’re real damn sure they won’t crucify you next to me.”

***

The roundhouse was, as the name suggested, ring-shaped, open in the center, rain blowing in on gusts of wind. Little difference it made, Ulysses thought, with a wall of angry Circle Junction townsfolk between them and the rain.

“You still fought with them once! How the hell do we trust someone who slashed and burned their way across the country?”

They shouted approval, heckling. Beside him the Limitanei were tense, ready to break, save Seneca. Thumbs through his belt, he leaned closer to Ulysses to murmur, “Any bright ideas?”

He looked out at the crowd, still lit by stormlight, seething, tense…afraid.

“All it took was one fucking _woman_ to send you boys running east! What do you think a _city_ of us can do?” Another roar. The woman holding the club was perched above the rest on a rust-eaten frame. She gestured to him. “We did it once! So did she! Want to see us try again?”

“What do you know of the Courier in Vegas?” he called, raising his voice above theirs.

“Enough to do what she did!”

He waited for them to die down, their eyes on him. “What she _did?_ She murdered men seeking shelter from the Legion?”

“Right, and she wasn’t _stupid_ , either,” she said, to laughter in the crowd.

“Then tell me,” he said, stepping towards them. The townies pressed back. “Tell me of her. Who is she, to you?”

“Old tribal, from a dead tribe,” a man shouted. “Men like _them_ did that to enough people!”

“And what tribe?” Ulysses said. A few mutterings, silence. “What place? What name? You claim admiration and know nothing more of her?”

A few murmurs, and once, distinctly, “Divide.”

He raised a hand to point. The crowd parted, and a young woman stared back at him. The fringe on the edge of her skirt was knotted, almost…no. “What do you know of the Divide?”

She glanced back over her shoulder, as though hoping to find someone else to answer. She looked back to him and swallowed. “That it… That she lived there, now it’s gone. That’s all anyone knows. They say she went back, once…”

“You know nothing of its history,” he said, and they glanced between each other, daring each other to interrupt. “Divide was a place she _made_. Divide was somewhere she wanted seen safe, risked her life to see built. To take in those who would not do war.” He looked up at the woman on the frame. “A place she defended, until there was nothing left. Woman like that, you think she’d put men to the blade who haven’t proved their colors?”

The woman with the club set her jaw, didn’t quite look down. “And who the hell are _you_ to come here and whine about her to us? Huh? Doesn’t change that you all show up in Legion armor with a load of them behind.”

Ulysses plucked at the front of his duster, held up the hand with a frown. A few in the crowd chuckled. “You drive these trains, then?” Another ripple of mutters, a few laughs. “Means to an end. Wastes are still dangerous. Does well to have protection.”

She dropped down from the structure, the head of the club still in the palm of her hand as she approached. “Who _are_ you?”

The crowd parted to their left. “Mailmen.”

Adal tossed him his staff as she passed, her rifle on her back, ax head on her shoulder. “What’d I miss, boys? Looks like you’re having a party without me.”

Marius trailed behind her, handing over weapons to the Limitanei. The silver-haired headman held out his rifle, butt-first. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Tell that to her?” Ulysses said, following the Courier.

“Out here?” she asked the headman, over her shoulder. He nodded, started to speak, and she waved at the gates. “Open ‘em.”

The rain had faded to a scatter of fat drops, the light gone to a dim green as the sun considered waking, behind the clouds. The folk manning the wall glanced down at her, to their leader. “You said you’d deal with them, not—”

“I know what I said, Medina, and you’re gonna open that gate so I can get it over with.” Adal gestured to Seneca, muttered, “Get a few of you on the walls, they might test the other gates.” He nodded, gestured, some of the Limitanei breaking off, the rest forming up beside them. She looked back at Ulysses, face grim in the dark, that faintest smile in her eyes for him despite it. “Hang back. Let me deal with this unless it goes to shit.”

The doors rolled aside as she strode forward, stopping just inside the spotlights trained on the road. Adal kept the ax on her shoulder, barely turning her head to take in the line of Legionaries ringing the gates. Ulysses tensed as they raised their weapons, picking out cover, safety, the quickest way to get her to it. Behind them, the townies fell back against buildings, railcars, not quite into safety but too fascinated to leave.

She raised a hand. The rustlings in the crowd stilled, a Legionary shifting his weight froze. “Which one of you’s in charge? I’m a busy woman and don’t have time to kill all of you.”

One stepped forth from the center of the group, taller, broader, in armor fashioned of steel and trophies. “I am Justus Magnus, out of Sedona, leading the century there.” He raised the super sledge in his hands, widening his stance to a fighting crouch. “And the only reason you still live, Courier, is that the Venator would see you dead by his own hands.”

“That’d be your first mistake,” she said, feet still planted. “Seems we have a standoff. You won’t kill me, I ain’t going willing. This Venator wants to come here his damn self, maybe we could get an end to it.”

The centurion scowled. “And if we set fire to this town, force you to watch it burn?”

Ulysses saw Medina tense, behind a barrier. Adal lifted her chin. “Circle Junction’s under my protection.” There was a gunshot from high and behind on the wall, a cry of pain. “You deal with me, Justus Magnus. Only me. I’ll give you the offer I gave Lanius,” she said, turning her head to look at him askance, “though I don’t give you his odds. You win, you kill me, take me to him, whatever. So long as this town goes free. I win, you die, and any of your men won’t walk away peaceful.”

He bared his teeth at Lanius’ name, at the slight, but nodded. “Single combat. I’ll drag you to him alive, woman, with broken legs to whatever hell he intends.”

Half-facing him, Ulysses could see the faint pull of fear in her eyes, the muscles of her jaw clench. “Courier,” he said, under his breath, “don’t risk this. Let me—”

“Stay back,” she murmured, passed him her rifle. “Single combat!” she said, stepping deeper into the ring of light. “Only hell today is the one I send you to, Justus Magnus.”

He opened with a rush, and she slipped in under the swing, the head of the ax biting into his side. The centurion spun, sweeping low for her legs, forcing her to dance back. The next blow glanced off her armor as she tried to twist away, drawing a grunt from her. She turned the momentum into an upward swing, striking his leg, making the centurion spit and swear. He limped back a step, the hammer still moving viciously fast. She caught it on her arm, just below the shoulder, drawing a hacking growl of pain. The limb hung loose, and she rolled the shoulder, a swing of the hammer ruffling her hair as she jerked the arm back in place.

Ulysses tensed, a hand tight on his staff, the other finding the trigger guard on her rifle. Beyond the light, a few gun barrels trained on him. In the corner of his eye, he saw the Limitanei level theirs in return.

A hollow _thunk_ and explosive breath brought is attention back, watching her stagger away from a body blow, nearly knocked off her feet. The centurion raised the hammer high, blood running from a gash across his face, giving his snarl a savage edge.

She caught the blow on the haft of the ax, redirecting the force down and beside her instead of stopping it entire, but he saw her teeth bared in pain, desperation, mouth open to gasp for breath. Her opponent stumbled, overbalanced, and the ax whipped up towards his neck.

The metal clanked off his gauntlet, closing around the ax. Adal heaved back on it, but he ripped it free, threw it aside. She backed away as he brought the hammer to bear, drawing the knife at her belt. They circled, knowing he had more power, more reach, but still wary of her speed. Ulysses saw the desperate gleam to her eye, felt the cold in is gut. He tested the balance of the brush gun in his hand, judged his angle to the centurion…but she would be in the crossfire when the Legionaries returned the shot, exposed, could see her crumpling, blood stark in the spotlight, a dozen rounds before she hit the ground—

The hammer swung. Adal dropped almost to the ground as it passed overhead, driving back up with the knife. It dug into the muscle of his bare left arm, his grip slipping on the handle, carrying the weight of the swing one-handed. He swore aloud, unbalanced. The centurion staggered back as she pressed close, too close for him to swing, dropping the hammer as he lashed up with the gauntlet.

She was faster, the blow clipping her jaw instead of connecting full on, pressing inside his range as she gripped his face, sinking a thumb into his eye to make him flinch. The knife stabbed into the side his neck as he arched away, pulled forth a spray of gore as she ripped it forward, let his body drop.

Adal stood over him, panting, covered in blood. Sticking the knife through her belt, she lifted the sledge with a grunt, pausing to spit blood. “Which of you fuckers wants to go next?”

In the stillness, Ulysses caught a flash from the back of the Legion line. He had the rifle up before the Legionary could get a bead with his revolver, spurring panicked fire from the rest. Adal didn’t raise the hammer as she stepped back, one of the Legion breaking ranks to rush her, and Ulysses made quick work of him. Her Limitanei stepped up, firing on the scattering Legion, flanking her with gladius against the few who dared press forward.

Fire started from atop the walls, a shout from the townies as the gates started to close. He slung the rifle as her men closed ranks, and she backed into the town as they held the gap.

Ulysses heard the shouts, confusion on the far side of them as he went to her. Adal leaned back on the side of a shed, the head of the hammer resting on the ground. She looked pale, the sky grown lighter, grayer as the storm passed, showing every drop of mud and blood that clung to her. She didn’t quite smile as he stepped close, stopping to wince, pulled away as he raised a hand to the bruise already spreading on her jaw. “Are you…?”

“I’ll be fine, you big softie,” she said, voice low. She wiped a hand on her face, looked at the mess left on it, standing straighter to prop the sledge on her shoulder. “Anywhere I can clean up?”

The townies pressed close, clamoring. He kept himself between them and her, gesturing at one of the women to lead. The maze of railcars and lean-tos gave way to the roundhouse, to a few twisting corridors. “Womens’ showers through here. Sir, mens’ are—Sir, you can’t just—!”

He brushed past her, protests trailing off. Adal still had the sledge on her shoulder, walking the line of stalls and pushing aside the curtains on them. He did the same on the row on the far side. “Alone,” he said, letting the last drape fall.

A clank behind him as he turned, the sledge hitting the ground. The top of her head was against his chest, her body slumped, arms hanging. “Aaaagh.”

“You’re an idiot,” he said, pulling her closer.

She shied away from a touch on her shoulder, said “ _Aaaaagh_ ,” as she pressed her face against his chest, good arm looping under his duster to hold him back.

“Made me stand there, to _watch_ …”

Another wordless noise from her. He pressed his face against the top of her head, fingers in her hair. He breathed her in, warm and sweet with an acrid tang of fear under it. Parts of her armor dug into him, but he held tight, leaning on each other. “Never,” he murmured, lips against her hair. “Fear for you enough, any battle. Ask me to stand idle, let you be…”

She was shaking her head against him, breath shuddering. “You wouldn’t’ve let them. If I’d lost. I know, I just—”

“ _Never_ ,” he said, low and fierce.

“Just—” A nod, something like a choked sob. “Yeah. Yeah.”

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, hand slid up against his back. He let her go, slowly, pulled away just enough to hold her face in his hands. “Promise me, Adal,” he said, soft, sure his voice would break at anything louder. “Promise me, never again, to ask me to stand _aside_ while you’re hurt. Killed. With me at your side, or never…”

“Hell, man,” she said, trying to pull a smile over her shaking lips, bluff, bravado—Courier again. “I’ve done worse against better’n him. You knew how that was gonna go.”

A kiss to silence her, his forehead on hers. “Promise me.”

Her hand pushed up along his neck, in his hair, transgression and all the more pleasure for it. She shook her head against his, gentle. “Can’t do that, my man. I can try, but god knows how this’ll all shake out.” She leaned back, looked up at him. “And I hope like hell you don’t listen and save my skin like that again.”

Ulysses sighed, stepped back. He tried to put the words together to scold, to praise, but instead gestured to the door. “Anyone asks, you were wounded, needed tending,” he said. “We’ll sweep the walls, make work of any stragglers.”

“Not wrong,” she said, feeling her shoulder, teeth clenched. “Go on. Be diplomatic for me. I’ll be out soon.”

He nodded, turned. Wanted to go back, to hold her, touch every inch of her to assure himself she was safe and well…

But instead pushed open the door, into the noise and motion of the town.


	7. Chapter 7

“I apologize for my tone earlier. It was a lot to process at once, you understand.”

Adal eyed the drink Medina poured for her, leaned back in her chair. She fussed with the collar of the townie shirt riding uncomfortably under her armor, on loan while her things were cleaned. Arm in a sling, she tried to focus on the damp smell of the poultice on her shoulder rather than the liquor. “Can imagine it was a bit of a shock.”

He smiled at her, hands folded on his desk. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ve had some rough times, the last few months. The Legion were never kind to us, but, well…they kept the raiders down. Seeing strangers at our gate, at such an hour?” He pushed the drink a little closer. “We are only too happy to host a foreign dignitary, now that we know better. Please, relax. You’re welcome in Circle Junction as long as you need.”

“That’s kind of you, Mr. Medina,” she said, biting down on a yawn. A couple hours’ sleep after getting cleaned up had only left her more groggy. “But we’re looking to move on as soon as my men are fit to travel. We’ll need supplies for this last leg, food, ammunition, first aid…If you have anything up for sale, I got caps, Legion coin, whatever’s still spending in this region.”

“If I had anything to spare, I would love to, ma’am,” he said, smile going slightly brittle. “But these raider issues, you have to understand…You’ve come all the way from New Vegas, you must have seen what’s become of Arizona? If it’s not raider tribes that went into hiding, it’s Legionaries that have…backslid.” He waved a hand. “I’ve got my scavengers working around the clock, but those that come back tell me all the nearby ruins are picked clean.” Adal rubbed at her face. Medina leaned forward. “One leader to another, I cannot just…send away all these supplies. You understand. But you’re welcome to stay as long as necessary.”

“Well, that doesn’t—” Adal stopped herself, taking a deep breath. “Ain’t worth us staying, if we can’t leave. I’ll have my men pack up and move on as soon as they’re done sweeping the hills around the city.”

“They’re dead on their feet. You said it yourself,” Medina said, glancing at her drink. He hadn’t touched his own. “Let them rest, then. And no offense, but you look like you could use some time to recover yourself, ma’am” he said, pointing to her arm. “I have more scavengers coming in tonight. Let’s see what they’ve come up with.”

She rubbed at her eyes, sitting forward. “Fine. Yeah, that’s probably as good as it gets, then,” she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Let me know, as soon as they’re in. The longer we’re here, the more likely the Legion sends troops your way.”

“Of course, of course.” Medina said. He raised his glass. “To good relations, between us.”

She hooked her canteen off her belt and lifted it before taking a sip. He frowned, just enough to notice. “To good relations,” she said, not breaking eye contact.

Adal rubbed at the back of her neck as she stepped down to the road. The Limitanei standing next to the railcar straightened, and she nodded to him. “Holding up?”

“I am fit to serve, Domina.” Fulvius fell in beside her, headed deeper into town.

She gave him a sidelong look. Pale, with a sheen of sweat. “You’re a mess. Go lay down.”

“I was ordered to not leave you unattended—”

“And I’m ordering you to go rest before you drop dead,” she said. “You got another dose of antibiotics, right?” He hesitated just long enough, and she sighed. “Listen, you gotta _keep_ taking it, or else it…fucks up somehow. Got it?”

“Yes, Domina,” he said, slouching a little.

She shook her head. “Listen, I just don’t want you dying on my count, too. I’ve seen people dead of a gut infections, it’s pretty damn horrible.” She fished for her lighter and a cigarette, trying to remember which pocket of the loaner jacket they were in. “Go rest, and one more syringe. That’s an order, you hear me?”

“Yes, Domina. Should I wake another of the men?”

“Don’t bother,” she said, waving her lighter. “The rest should be back from patrolling soon to send this bunch out. I’ll catch one of them then, if that makes you feel better.”

He gave her a slightly confused look, but saluted and wandered into the roundhouse’s interior. Adal took a drag on her cigarette and started to walk. A bad feeling was creeping up her back; Medina and his forced smile, the drink, the Legion on their doorstep. The townies made way for her as she walked, looking on in something like awe as she passed, and whispering to each other.

Adal ducked into a shop to get away from the eyes, nodding to a woman behind the counter. “Howdy,” she said, pinching out the last half of her cigarette. “Was wondering if you could help me with some supplies for the road.”

The woman didn’t smile, but nodded back. “Only a bit, ma’am. Things are a little lean at the moment.”

“That’s what I’m hearing,” Adal said, hooking a stool over with an ankle. “What have you got for ammo? Could give you a fair trade in caps.”

“I’m sorry, we have orders to reserve all of our ammunition for our wall guards,” she said, briskly. “And I’m afraid caps are…a bit old fashioned, this far east.”

“Are they? Interesting.” Adal rubbed her chin, looking down at the glass case between them. “How about medicines? Trail rations?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes went wide at the coin she fished out of her pocket. As though it physically pained her, she said, “We don’t have any food here suitable for travel. And medicines…”

“For your wall guard.” She turned the aureus over, watching how her eyes followed it. “You folk trade in coin, then?”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” she said, and cleared her throat. ”I mean, we do, of course. They’re much more convenient than a sack of rusty bottlecaps.”

“Hm. Meaning whoever you trade with, outside of your scavengers, use them too?”

The shopkeeper froze, eyes coming up to hers briefly. “There’s a few settlements around yet, who were under Legion control. Of course they use coin.”

“Hm.” Adal tucked the coin away. “Interesting. But if you ain’t allowed to sell what I’m needing…”

“Well, I…” She leaned to look past Adal, out the door. She lowered her voice. “I can’t sell ammo, but I’ve got powder, primers, a selection of casings, and Holloway has a bench a few cans down.”

“Ah, good news,” she said, hand in her pocket but not withdrawing the coin. “You think Medina’d be a little more eager to kick us out, even if it meant parting with some supplies.”

The shopkeeper gave the door another nervous look. “Tell you what, ma’am. I’ll give you as much for reloads as I can get away with, and a tip: Don’t cross Medina. Ask Holloway if you want to know more.”

“I appreciate it,” Adal said. She pushed the coin across the counter as she laid out boxes of reloading supplies. “And that was a few…Cans?”

“Yes, uh, the big rail containers. East of here, the orange one,” she said, pointing over her shoulder with a thumb. “He’s probably helping coordinate the men out scouting right now, but he should be back eventually.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said, stacking her purchases in her pack. “Anyone asks, these didn’t come from here.”

The shopkeeper looked relieved as she stepped out. A few of the townies glanced away as she went so very _clearly_ not watching her. She almost grinned as she relit her cigarette, heading east. Just no getting away from looks like that, she supposed.

The orange can was one of the longer ones, opening on the ends rather than the side. Stacks of leaf spring and lengths of timber leaned against one side, under a tarp. She knocked idly on it as she passed, to no answer, and stepped through the gap between it and the next. As promised, there was a reloading bench against the back of it, under another awning. She set her pack on a metal drum and got to work.

It was just as well that she was waiting for someone, laying out her supplies with one working arm. Holloway, who was helping to rout any of the Legion lingering around the town, meaning he was working with Ulysses and Seneca anyway. Maybe she just should go back to bed, let them sort it out…

Decapping and recapping the primers wasn’t so hard, but dosing out powder had her grinding her teeth. She tried working with her arm out of the sling, and regretted it immediately. Half-out was even too tender, and she growled to herself. Finally she grabbed a lump of wood from the ground to prop the funnel on, and puttered through the rest of the process one-handed and cursing.

Adal glanced down the alley, and up at the sun. Not even noon. She sighed as she looked back to the prepped casings, slid it over next to the press. “Fuck _me_ ,” she muttered as she tried to line up the first load one-handed, seeing the bullet slip as she brought the handle down.

A hand reached from her other side, holding the case. She glanced over, and the townie man gestured for her to finish. She gave the handle a hard crank, and he passed her the round, checking it over for flaws. “Thanks.”

“Looked like you needed a hand,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

“This your bench?” she said, pointing. “Saw it was free, so I figured…”

“Please, it’s the least I can do. I overheard Medina telling our traders not to deal with you,” he said, and gestured to the press. “May I…?”

“Knock yourself out,” Adal said, stepping away from the bench to give him room—and keeping herself from craning at his height. “I see you sometime last night?”

“You did.” He put the next casing in place, and she passed him a bullet. “I was on the wall for the fight. That was…”

“Hey, it’s what I do,” she said, taking the finished round back. She sized him up as he worked, about her age, fair wherever old sunburn hadn’t left its mark. His hair was lightish, fading to gray, long enough to pull back but still distinctly curly. He had the build of a fighter, with shoulders that pulled at the fabric of his shirt. “You’d be Holloway, then?”

“That’s me,” he said, pausing to shake her hand. “Ellis Holloway, I make and operate the bows here.”

“Oh, eh,” she said, leaning back on the bench. “Remember your folk were just starting to use those last time I was by. You do good work, I’d like to have a closer look if we get the chance.”

“That can be arranged. Promise not to be pointing it at you, this time,” he said, smiling, and every line in his face was put to use. Something in it made her pause, but he turned back to the press. “It’s an old art, I’m surprised more people haven’t pursued it.”

“Fair few have. Run across my share of tribes that’ve figured it all out.” Adal squinted at him, there was something… “The wall’s new, too. Guess you folks got sick of the raiders out this way.”

“Raiders, and Caesar,” he said, lining up another round. “They never properly took this place. People knew we were here, that we were large, fortified…thought it made us safe from the Legion.” He brought the handle down harder than necessary. “They’d just raid us from time to time, no better than the people they said they’d protect us from. Take whoever wasn’t able to hole up before they arrived, turn it into a market for a day, then put a collar on ‘em all and lead ‘em off like a string of brahmin.”

“Hell,” she muttered, looking away. “Medina said they traded slaves…”

“More people came, we started building the wall,” he said, bitter. “Just meant the Legion hit us harder. Took more of them. People didn’t believe us when we tried to turn them away…”

Adal shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s…” Holloway pushed back a few coils of flyaway hair. “It’s in the past now. They haven’t come after us for almost a year. Medina says it’s because the city can finally hold its own, but a lot of us credit that to you, and the second battle at the Dam.”

“No hero, me,” she said, tucking some of the finished rounds through the loops in her belt. “Someone needed to do it. Was just in the right place at the right time.”

“Sound like something a hero would say,” he said, handing her the last one. She matched his grin and met his eyes, light gray and set deep. Something seemed to change behind them, and he looked away.

“I, uh.” She fidgeted with her brush gun, laying on the bench, making sure it was loaded and safed. “Someone pointed me your way. To discuss why Medina’s being so wary of us.”

He raised his eyebrows, glancing up and down the alley. “If you wanna discuss that, I recommend we do it privately,” he said, voice low. 

“Fair enough,” she said. He led her to the end of the can, pausing with a hand on the door. Adal leaned around him for a look. “You and your timing.”

Ulysses raised a hand to Holloway, who returned it. “Courier. Any news?”

“There was gonna be. Assumed you two met, then?” she said. Behind Holloway’s back, she tipped her head at him, an eyebrow raised.

He nodded slightly. _I trust him_. “No escort?”

Holloway opened the door, and she followed him up. “Kid was about to fall over, I made him rest.”

“’Kid’ is a prime Legionary. Born to die fighting,” Ulysses said, pulling the door shut behind them.

“Exactly. Be a shame to lose him to a minor case of spear in the gut,” she said, feeling for a cigarette.

“They won’t thank you for meddling.”

“Then they can thank me for keeping him alive.” The inside of the can was full of more steel and wood, in slats and in pieces, a few half-carved bows and disassembled crossbows on a workbench. She picked out a bed hiding in the corner, under what looked like a spool of wire. “Thought ‘brotherhood’ was one of their catch phrases.”

Holloway cleared his throat. She took her hand out of her pocket and rested it in her sling instead. “You had questions about Medina?” he said, not looking at either of them.

“Yeah. Why’s he so eager to keep us here?” Adal said. Ulysses cocked his head, and she waved and shot him a look. “He won’t trade with us, he was tryin’ to talk me down from leaving every chance he got…He’s made a hell of a turnaround since last night.”

“I don’t quite know,” Holloway said, arms folded, rubbing his lip with a hand. “He’s been running our scavvers hard, with not a lot to show for it, I know that. Been concerning some people here. But it’s not like our supplies are that dire.”

“He made it sound they were,” she said. “Just how bad are the raiders around here?”

Holloway shrugged. “Oh, they’ve been worse. Nothing we can’t handle, at the moment.”

“Exact opposite of what he told me.” She looked to Ulysses. “Talked with a trader here. They take Legion coin, but not caps.”

“Hn.” He narrowed his eyes. “Could be slow to change, after the Legion broke. Or…”

“He’s in their pocket somehow,” she said.

“We’ve _never_ dealt with the Legion on that level,” Holloway said. “None of us. We’ve spent the last couple _decades_ trying to get out from under them, and…” He shook his head, getting a hold of himself. “I agree Medina is up to something shady, but you’d need hard evidence to make anyone here believe _that_.”

Adal raised a hand. “Ain’t accusing you,” she said. “He said he had scavengers coming in tonight. Sound right to you?”

“Evening, yes. There should be a crew coming back,” Holloway said. He glanced at Ulysses “Unless…?”

“Legion shouldn’t interfere with them,” he said. “No sign of the rest of Sedona after us, anyway. Either most are headed to Flagstaff, or they’re waiting for night. Wouldn’t show their hand by killing civilians, just come at us at once.”

“Well, guess we wait, then,” she said. She didn’t fight the next yawn. “But I’m gonna die if I don’t get some sleep.”

“Of course, yes,” Holloway said, pushing open the door. “I’ll find you, if anything happens. And…”

Ulysses was already on the stairs, and Adal stopped, looking back. “Yeah?”

“I, uh…” He folded his arms, unfolded them, dithered at putting his hands in his pockets. “You mentioned the siege, the Walker broke, many years ago. I mean, last night, is when you mentioned it.” He shook his head. “There was a…young lady, who’s name I never got. One of the Walker. I was wondering if you might know who...”

Adal swallowed. “I’m the only Walker I know, since…” _Alam is, too,_ something in her whispered, and she stomped it down.

“Right, right,” he said looking down. “I’m sorry, I…”

“No, don’t be,” she said, waving her good hand. “I’m traveling more now, I’ll… I’ll keep my ears open, right? Remember you to her, if I find her.”

“Yeah. That’d be fine,” he said, his smile tinged with something that made her step back. “Thank you, miss courier. It means a lot.”

“Adal,” she said, taking another step down. His smile was still there, but forced, not reaching his eyes. “Ellis Holloway, bowman out of Circle Junction. Might’ve been a long time gone, now, and she might’ve changed since then…but I’m sure she’ll remember you.”

“Adal, of the Walker tribe, and Courier from New Vegas,” he said, quiet. “Thank you.”

She nodded again, turning away.

“All’s well?” Ulysses said, falling in step with her.

“Christ. I guess, yeah,” she said, patting after another cigarette.

He frowned at her. “Have some concern with him, better to know now.”

She waved a hand, sighing. “Just…Fuck a man thirty years ago, and he never lets you forget it.”

He made a choking noise. She stopped walking as he bent at the waist, struggling to breathe. “Well, hell, nice knowing you,” she said. He put a hand to his face, and she rolled her eyes. “God, you’re tired.”

Ulysses managed to nod, rubbing at his face. He straightened up, still holding back laughter. “Did you—”

“Details don’t matter!” she said. He almost started to laugh again, let out a breath as he took in her expression. “You done?”

“Yes. I…” She turned and kept walking. “Courier. I didn’t…”

“We got enough to deal with.”

He caught up with her, and she didn’t look over. He cleared his throat. “Yes. More important issues.”

“Ought to rest, for now,” she said, not sure if she craved a bed or a smoke more. “Won’t hear from Medina until tonight.”

“Could use it.” Ulysses nodded, idly rasping a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Need time on Marius. Won’t walk into Flagstaff without _all_ he knows.”

She watched him side-on. The silence made him frown and look up, and she gazed back, too many words running behind her head, too many for her to pick and choose a way to say, _my son, and I know you won’t just_ ask.

They stopped in the uncovered center of the roundhouse, where the rails converged on the central round of track. He met her look evenly, face a mask to her. His voice was low, not enough to carry to the people giving them a wide berth. “Can’t trust him, Courier.” She shook her head, but he stepped closer. “Kept him here, under guard. Might talk if it gets him free.”

“And you’d let him walk?” she said. He took a moment too long, finally drawing a breath, and she cut him off with a hand. “He knows too much. Right. Enemy agent. Better off killing him.”

“Courier—”

“Can I…” She looked at the people around them, some watching, some passing, none daring to quite get close. Adal drew him into the fold between a shed and the roundhouse building. “I’m going to talk to him, fist. Alone.”

There was a weight in his eyes. “What would you hope to achieve, Courier? Spent more of his life Legion than knowing you. Can’t expect…”

He trailed off at her look. “Think I don’t know that? Think I don’t _remember_ them—”

He looked down. “I—”

Adal pushed past him, entered the building. Their rooms were all in the same stretch of hall, curving through the center of the roundhouse, a Limitanei standing guard outside of one. He looked wrung out even through scarf and goggles, and she waved him away. “Go rest. I’ll take a turn.”

He hesitated, but saluted. She heard his footsteps detour around Ulysses, felt a hand almost grasp her shoulder. “Courier.”

She knocked once on the door before going in. Marius had almost gotten his feet on the ground, sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t move as she closed the door, leaned back on the far wall. It was cramped, with barely space for the bed and a desk, the bare bulb hanging close enough to make her sweat.

Marius gripped the edge of the bed, seemed to consider the door. “Well? Is this it? Judge, jury and executioner come herself to see it done?”

“Ain’t killing you,” she said. “Just want to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” he said, moving as if to stand, but reconsidering in the tight quarters. “I have no authorization—or desire—to give you anything I know.”

Adal nodded, fussed with the collar of her shirt. “If we’re really on the same side, here, Vegas’n Flagstaff, it’d put us ahead of things.”

“Same side?” He scoffed. “Flagstaff has its own aims. What they want from you is not mine to know.”

“They willin’ to die for pride?” she said, shifting her weight and hearing paint flake off the wall behind her. “Venator wants both our cities to burn. He’s got the means.”

He sat up straighter. “We have the manpower to defend ourselves, the fortifications. You do not.”

“Then how many men’s he got, against yours?”

Marius fidgeted with his scarf, pulled it down against the warmth of the room. “That is no concern of yours.”

She sighed. “We’re going to Flagstaff anyway.”

“And what will you find? Better you retreat west,” he said, that frown like a mirror, making her fight the urge to look away. “We know of you, Courier. You might finally find a people you can save in New Vegas.”

It took a moment to find her voice, and it scratched its way out when she did. “The hell’s that supposed to mean.”

He pressed his lips together thin. “We have spies, couriers, and informants—”

“The hell you _getting at_ , kid?”

“—one long string of failures after another—”

Adal pushed away from the wall. “Don’t you _dare_.”

Marius stopped, breathing hard. He looked away, seemed to suppress a shudder.

Adal looked at the door. Easier to leave. Smarter, than let him make her upset…but her mouth quirked, a bitter smile. “Always were good at riling people.” She saw his shoulders pull up tight. “You would needle your brother ‘til he blew up, then hide beside Jeth as I argued it. Gave me a look, that you knew what you did, but thought it was worth getting a rise.”

“That’s not who I am,” through a raw throat.

“You were born in a town called Alamosa, so we named you for it, as was our way. Your favorite jody was about the jackals and ravens, the tricksters. Liked to play jokes on the other kids.” His hands were fisted on his lap, staring at the floor. “Do you remember it? Remember the songs we sang as we walked?”

His mouth worked, and he swallowed. “I remember a woman who favored another boy over me, and the sour, petty man she would fight with.”

Adal’s breath stopped. “I…”

“I remember people screaming,” he said, voice cracking. “I only remembered being afraid, not understanding. Being told what had happened was a favor to us. I woke up to that sound for so long, but didn’t know what it meant for years.”

She hunted for words, but he went on before she could find them. “And I thought it better that you died. A vicious, violent woman, put down. Out of your misery.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Alam, I…”

“ _That is not my name_.” He still sat, hands shaking, knuckles white. “There is _no_ mending this. This is your fault—”

“I never meant for—”

“—watched our entire _tribe_ die because you dragged us into this!” He was on his feet, goggles around his neck, face inches from hers. “Watched them be _culled_ on the road when they couldn’t walk, watched them break us up, break us _down_ until all that was left was…” He gestured to himself, his Legion clothes, a buildup of old scars on his arms, his face. “And you, Courier, _mother_ , coming back now, too _late_ , like _then_ , to pretend you have _any_ power over what happens next.”

There were tears on his face, and she wanted to put her arms round him, hold him until they both cried hollow, her child, _a stranger, an enemy,_ as she shut her own eyes and felt the heat in them.

Adal fought to keep her breathing even, focused on the pull of muscle in her chest and belly, on forcing air around the pain. Across from her, she heard his breath slow, felt him shift away, but uneven, uncertain.

“I ain’t putting a guard back on you,” she said, eyes still shut, voice barely above a whisper. “Door’ll be unlocked. We’re going to Flagstaff. What you do next ain’t mine to say.”

She didn’t give him time to speak, just felt for the door blind and let herself out.

“Ma’am! There you are.”

Ulysses gave her a too-neutral look, and Medina beamed. Adal glanced away just long enough to wipe her face. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, quite the opposite,” he said, reaching for her arm. She pulled away, and Ulysses tensed. Medina’s grin was uncertain, but he turned the gesture into a beckon. “Come along, I have something to show you.”

They glanced at each other, but followed him to the end of the hall. Adal shied back at the sudden sound, what looked like most of the town packed into the center of the roundhouse. Medina gestured at the crowd and cleared his throat. “Courier! We are honored to have you in our city.” The crowd quieted slightly. “You, a stranger, have defended us when others would have run. We know you have travel ahead of you, but won’t have you leave thinking Circle Junction is ungrateful.” Medina smiled again, in that way that didn’t quite touch the eyes. “Tonight, we will be holding a celebration in your name.”

The crowd cheered again. Adal forced a smile, leaned towards Ulysses. “What the hell,” she whispered through her teeth. He gestured forward, at the waiting people. “I, ah.” She straightened, tried to unstuff her nose discreetly. “I thank you, Circle Junction!” There was a smattering of clapping and whoops. Not looking at Medina, “Your generosity is a rare thing in the wastes. Let us celebrate tonight, so, I uh…Can carry good word of you as we go.”

Her smile felt more like a grimace, but the townies cheered and started breaking up, Medina nodding and stepping away. As the roundhouse cleared, she took Ulysses by the arm, pulling him towards the room set up for her. “I’ll show up long enough to make ‘em happy, but I need you to do the heavy lifting here.”

“What’s wrong?” Ulysses pulled the door shut behind him. “Marius?”

“Heh.” Adal rubbed her free hand at her face, smearing the tears still on it. “Too much, my man.”

He put an arm around her. “Shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t start,” she said, digging for a cigarette. “You ever been to Circle Junction before? No? Well, they’re gonna toast me to hell and gone, and I ain’t drinking even if it’s diplomatic.”

He shook his head. “Can stand in.”

“You can—fuck.” She fumbled her lighter, but he caught it as it fell. He held it lit, and she took a shaky puff. “Thought you hated the habit.”

He made a noncommittal _hn_ , and she dared glance up—and down, just as fast, at his expression. “Holloway,” he said, not quite a question.

Adal took a breath, bit it down as she exhaled. “If you wanna go stand in for me, lean on Medina.” She pulled away, sat on the bed. “I don’t know what angle he’s playing. Get him drunk, in a good mood, get him talking. Need supplies for this last leg.”

“See to it,” Ulysses said. She looked away as he stepped closer, held up the cigarette to fend him off. He laid a hand on her cheek anyway. Softly, “Marius?”

She leaned into the touch briefly, away again as she took a drag. “Let him go. He doesn’t matter.”

“Let him—?” He tipped her chin up, and she gave him a cross look, leaning back. “Need his information. Need an _in_.”

Adal let out a lungful of smoke, away from him. “No. He’s…” She could only shake her head, the roiling mass of everything in her head and chest eating the words, made her voice rough. “Can I just a have a minute?”

“We don’t have…” But Ulysses took a breath, muffled a cough on the smoke.

“Should go outside,” she said. “I just gotta…I’m gonna sleep. I’ll take a shift on the walls tonight, let our men rest. You work Medina over. First aid, food, ammo, anything we can get off him.”

She didn’t even look his way as he left.


	8. Chapter 8

Adal took a puff on her cigarette, holding it in her mouth to savor it. The top of the wall was in the last rays of sun, with a sliver of moon above that promised little light. The sound of the revelry beginning below was a dull murmur, almost soothing.

She shifted in her chair, feet on the cinder blocks making up the outer edge of wall. Medina had congratulated all of the city’s defenders, and her men, for turning away the Legion, called an end to the crisis and time to celebrate their guests—but not a word said about supplying them for the road. Holloway, lingering beside Medina, had given her an unreadable look, and she had simply shrugged and left. A shift on the wall, she hoped, would be enough of a goodwill gesture on top of Ulysses being his most persuasive.

She had stayed in her room, after he left. Hadn’t seen him since, and Marius’ door had been open, the room empty. She held her arms a little tighter.

Footsteps along the wall drew her eye, a pretty young lady in a white skirt, glowing almost gold in the sun. Adal nodded to her, waved her smoke. “Normally I’d offer, but this’s my last one, and it’s a filthy habit.”

“A filthy habit, in good company,” she said, holding out a softpack of pre-war cigarettes. “I wanted to thank you for defending our city.”

“Ah, hell, that’s kind,” she said, taking it. “Had to be done. Sorry to put you folk in trouble, just glad we could make good on it.”

“It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in months,” she said, shielding a lighter in her hand. There was a whoop from the crowd below, and she glanced back. “Not going to join them?”

“Nah, it’s…Been a long few days. Let ‘em have fun.” Adal kept one of the cigarettes out, tucking the others into her pocket. “You’re not down there, though?”

“No I, um…” Adal glanced over at her, hiding a bashful smile with a drag on her own smoke. “The men with you. They’re all very…”

“Bad idea. All of ‘em are either born Legion, or in so long it don’t matter. Don’t fall for the handsome warrior stranger bit,” Adal said, lighting a new cigarette off the stub of her roll-up. “Be real damn wary of any man comes from a place with _child quotas_.”

“Oh.” The stranger was quiet, beside her, looking out over the plain. “So you’re not really the courier that…?”

The prewar cigarette had a musty, stale taste, but Adal soldiered on. She’d gotten spoiled on the good stuff Raul grew. “Secret’s out. I’m her, girlie.” She grinned. “Disappointed yet?”

“Never. It’s an honor.” The smile was back, and she sat on the edge of the wall. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that. You’re incredibly brave.”

“Guess that’s one word for it,” Adal said. The sunset threw a shadow over the mass grave outside the wall. “Just luckier, some days.”

The silence was companionable, in the smell of smoke, watching the sun fall and night overtake the flatlands. With the strain of the last few days gone, Adal felt almost relaxed.

“So where are you from? I’ve heard so many stories,” the woman said.

“Hmm?” Adal came back to the moment. Idly, she patted at her pocket, considering another. “Nowhere in particular. Tribe got around.”

“Before the…”

Adal flicked her lighter open harder than she needed.

“Sorry.”

She held the cigarette between her lips, making sure the flame had caught. “Just so we know where we stand.”

The stranger rubbed her hands on her skirt, looking away. Adal slouched further into the creaky metal chair, watching an owl glide over the trees. There was music coming from below, and she found her toe tapping in time. “You got a name, girlie?”

“Luz,” she said, flicking a butt over the edge.

“Pretty.”

Luz cleared her throat, and Adal rolled her head to look. “But the men with you left the Legion? Completely?”

“Yeah, far as I can tell,” Adal said. “Came to me to lead ‘em, so they must’ve left some of that shit behind to take orders from a woman.” She shrugged, one-sided. “They follow me. Dunno how deep that runs yet, but they trust me enough to get this far without a knife in the back.”

“Still not husband material?” Luz asked, impish.

“I ain’t going there.” She puffed smoke out through her nose, a soft laugh. “Doubt they’d like to me digging in their love lives.”

She laughed, clear and bright. “Especially the one with the…” She gestured around her head, miming ropy braids.

“You don’t even know, on that one.” Adal said. “He’s with me.”

“Oh?” She tipped her head. “ _Oh_.”

“Oh,” Adal said, still grinning. “He’d be thrilled to know he’s making a hypocrite out of me.”

“Hypocrite?” Luz sat forward, chin on her fist.

“He was…” Ulysses, looking down at her, Marius’ name between them. Her grin faded. She shook her head. “Nah, ain’t important. Just don’t boink Legion men. They got ideas.”

“Hmm…” Her other arm was draped across her lap, and Adal was content to watch her toy with the knotted fringe on the edge of her skirt. “This whole thing is just so weird. The Legion still mobilizing, Flagstaff off doing…Their own thing? I don’t know what that means for us.”

“Nothin’, if I can help,” Adal said. “Can’t have another war ‘round here. Mojave’d never make it.” The woman was still watching her, and Adal waved a hand. The motion felt so nice and smooth, she did it a couple more times. “All we got is a bunch of poor people. Need help from me, not pullin’ a war in on ‘em.”

Luz made a sympathetic noise. Adal sighed, fussing with the edge of her townie jacket where the fibers had worked loose. “No idea what I’m gonna do,” she murmured. The denim texture of the coat was nice too, and she ran a finger up and down the stitching. “Gotta talk to Ulysses’n Seneca. They’re better at the war thing.”

“Are they?”

“Hmmm.” Her fingernail hit the seam on a pocket, and she scratched at it. “Yeah, strategy, war, Legion. I’m better at people, though. I know people. Know how they work. Know how to get ‘em to work…”

“The other man?” Luz asked. “The one went in Medina’s office with you?”

She groaned longer this time. “Hell. I don’t wanna go into that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding up her hands. Adal thought it was fascinating. “He just looks…different from the others. Like he’s still...”

“Not Legion. Not Limitanei. Flagstaff,” she said, still weighing the words, what they meant. Her son. Her son, a Legionary, an enemy, now something else, still a stranger… “You ain’t here for what I got on him. Just…Leave him alone, okay? If you gotta go for one of your soldier men, the young guy, the blond. I think he’s scared of girls.”

Luz laughed aloud, and Adal joined in. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

Adal wagged a finger at her. “If you just _have to_ girlie, don’t do what I did. Circle Junction has a record’f at least one bright eyed lady walking off with a stowaway.”

She had a hand over her mouth, almost choking. “Okay,” she said at last. “It’s late, I should really get going.”

“Don’t do anything I’d do,” she said, waving and feeling enormously clever. Adal wiggled her fingers a few more times before reaching into her pack. She had a scrap of jerky in there somewhere. It was late enough though, someone ought to be taking over up here soon…

Adal rolled her head at the sound of footsteps on her left. She took her feet off the wall, grabbing the chair as she stood. “Domina,” Vitis said curtly. “I am to relieve you. Is there anything to report?”

“Nohtin’ doin’ out there,” she said, around the mouthful of jerky. His face tightened with faint disgust, and she put a hand to her mouth as she swallowed. “Quiet so far. Hopefully stays that way.”

“Of course,” he said, facing out towards the plain, cradling his rifle. “ _Salve_ , Domina.”

“Yeah. Goodnight,” _asshole_ , she said, turning away and trying to find another piece of jerky. Only a sliver was trapped in the seam of the pouch, but she savored it as went down the stairs, enjoying the different _clank_ for each step. Her room was somewhere in the roundhouse, wasn’t it? Ah, she’d find it eventually.

She avoided the worst of the noise, wandering through back alleys towards the sound of the gathering. Adal hummed as she went, rifling to see if she had any trail mix in her pack. Voices ahead made her look up, and she spotted a couple standing in shadow. One threw their arms around the other, white skirt fluttering. Adal grinned and moved to take another path, until something in the back of her mind clicked.

“Hey, girlie. What did I say not an hour ago?”

They froze, and Luz backed away from… Adal glowered. “What the fuck, kid.”

Marius was tucking his scarf back up over his face, slipping every time he let go. “I’m—you have no—”

Luz gave her a cool look, not dropping his other hand. “Ma’am, you’re not my _mother_.”

“No, but _he’s_ my—”

“I—”

She caught a breath. “Under…under my command. Get off him.”

Luz let go, thunderous, and Marius hid his face, hooking the scarf over his ears. “Domin—Couri—” He growled. “ _You_ have no authority over me. You can’t—”

“Oh, rebelling now. Missed _this_ ,” she spat.

His shoulders squared up, looking at her from under his brow. Luz looked from one to the other, and Adal stepped back, hands fisted.

“You two…Get out of here. Go.” Adal watched them back away before turning, her reaching for his hand again. They stepped out of sight, and she pressed her hands to her face, rubbing at her eyes.

The roundhouse was ahead, and she stumped onwards. A few people were leaning on the back of the building, but they fell silent as she passed, let her enter the hallway of offices without stopping.

Her clothes were folded neatly on the foot of the bed, and she traded the townie jacket for her duster, a better fit over her armor. The weight of it felt good, and she let herself sit, face in her hands. The world, all its problems, all _her_ problems, were on the other side of glass, her looking in, watching them all spin away as she stood immobile…

Wiping her face dry, she hooked the strap of her pack on her boot, reached in for her book. Moping got nothing done.

***

Medina seemed disappointed when the Courier left, headed to the wall. Ulysses caught his eye, gesturing after her. “Safest town in Arizona, tonight.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Medina said, leaning his hands on the table. Several others had been set up in the clearing, with townies filling them with food and bottles. “I’ve heard very impressive things about her. I just wish she would accept some of our hospitality!”

“Hn.” He eyed the gathering, the blatant lie of no supplies worth sharing. “Frustrating to work with,” he said; no actual _lie_ in that, but let Medina take it as he would. A woman in a fringed skirt set a bottle and set of glasses before them, and he stared after her a moment, uncertain. He shook it off, pouring for both of them. “A drink, then, against frustrations.”

“Ha!” Medina tossed his back without a thought, leaving Ulysses to take a slower sip. “Had my share of them lately, with everything going on in the world.”

He smiled as he topped up his glass, refilled Medina’s. “Never ends,” he said, with agreement in it, ease. “Can’t imagine it’s simple, keeping a place like this running.”

Medina reached back for a chair, beckoning someone over with a plate of food. “Oh, plenty of difficulties, plenty of challenges.” Ulysses took another drink, something strong and biting that almost made him grimace, but the suggestion got Medina to take another gulp. “You’re not…involved, in running New Vegas, then?”

He grunted something to the negative, reaching for the bottle again. “In no official way…”

By the time Medina excused himself, standing unsteadily, a band had struck up in the circle, the townies throwing themselves into a dance. Ulysses had his feet up on the table, glass in hand, and blinked as Holloway took Medina’s seat. “Our scavengers came back. No salvage.”

“Your…” It took a moment to recall. “That is…Hm.”

Holloway tapped his fingers on the table. “Just how useful are you to us drunk?”

“I’m not as think as…He thinks…” Holloway stared at him, and Ulysses lined up each word before carefully enunciating, “He’s drunk more than I have. Keeping him talking.”

He sighed and rubbed at his face. “Well, try and keep up, tell me what he says. I’m on the night shift, find me on the wall.”

“Will,” he said. “Courier still up there?”

Holloway had paused, half standing. “I…Probably?”

“Mn.” Ulysses toyed with his glass, considered filling it again. `Knew her?”

He settled again, slowly, glancing behind himself. “Briefly. A long time ago,” he added, hastily.”Are you and she…?”

It took a moment, sifting through the possible words. “Wed?” Not the right one, but it was out, and he shrugged.

“Ah.” He tapped his fingers again, looking away. “Well, I…Hope that works out for you. From what I know of her, she’s a remarkable person.”

Ulysses smiled to himself. She was, wasn’t she? Woman who stood on a razor’s edge of contradictions, of conflict; and even in that stood like a Dam in her own right, between those she would protect and those who would destroy…

“Sorry?”

“Nothing,” he said, wondering how much had gotten out. He waved his glass as Holloway stood. “Safe night.”

He picked at some of the food on the table, hoping it would stop the world from sloshing so much when he moved his head. He could see the woman in the white skirt, leaning against the wall of the roundhouse with an arm behind her head, tracing a finger on the grain of the wood. She looked up under her eyelashes at Marius, arms folded, his back to him.

Almost sweet, that, but his smile faded. Adal’s son. Adal’s son, and a woman who thought to ask about the Divide, with knotwork on the edge of that skirt that was so very close to _meaning_ …

Medina sat again with a sigh, picking up a pile of meat with a flatbread. “Honestly, I _run_ this town, there shouldn’t be a _line_ ,” he grumbled. Beyond him, the woman took Marius’s hand, leading him away. “Now, where were we?”

“Saying you were a problem solver,” Ulysses said, back to cheer, to drunken familiarity as he poured again. “Tell me about that.”

Medina winked and wagged a finger. “Oh, I’ve got my ways. Spend a little more time here, we could talk…"

***

The night wore on. Adal put her feet up on the desk, leaning back in her chair. She had read the same page a few times, checking the time on her Pip-boy. Could be Ulysses was going to take all night. She ought to go to bed, he’d be back before morning, safe and sound, and probably scold her for losing sleep. Scold her for dealing with Marius, for…

The book was resting open on her chest, minutes ticking up. Eyes heavy, she tipped her chair up straight. This solved nothing, waiting up. Adal sighed. Another few pages, and she’d give in.

There were footsteps in the hall, an irregular shuffle. She narrowed her eyes, hearing humming. The voice was familiar, but…

The doorknob rattled once, twice, before the door opened. Ulysses leaned on the doorframe. He poked the door with a finger, humming to himself as it swung away.

“Hey, there,” she said, setting the book aside. “You alright?”

He smiled at her, warm and wide. “Hello,” he said, rounding out the word.

Adal snorted, mouth quirked. “Hell, man, look at you. Glad I didn’t go.” She stood, holding out a hand. “Get what we needed?”

“Mmm.” He took it, wrapping his fingers through hers. She rolled her eyes and tried to pull free, but he snaked an arm around her, drawing her close. “Need,” he murmured, lips against her neck. “You’re all I need, tonight.”

“Settle down, jackass,” she said, fending off a kiss to the mouth. 

“Ferocious woman,” he slurred, her hand still pressed over his face. “Deserve better’n…”

Adal made a face when he kissed the palm of it, trying to fight back a grin. “Siddown, you useless bastard,” she said, wiping her hand clean on him. “Didn’t think you’d get _this_ drunk. You need to sleep it off.”

“Mmm.” She got her other hand around his waist, dragging him towards the bed. “Don’ want _sleep_ , Courier. Want you.”

“Yeah, I guessed.” She sighed as his hands wandered, helping him to sit. “Damn it. F’I ever knew how annoying drunks were, I…Well, I probably would have kept drinking, but…”

“You are…” Ulysses took her by the waist, trying to draw her into his lap. “Relentless, Courier, unstoppable…still chose me, your kindness…Should do better by you…”

He was trying to undo her belt. Shaking him off, she waved a threatening finger under his nose. He smiled, trying to take it in his mouth. “Christ, man, knock it off!”

“S’wrong?” He slipped off her bandanna to run his hands through her hair as she yanked off his boots. “I love you.”

“I…” She shook her head. Now. Why _now_. “Yes, I know. Now, you sleeping with your clothes on or what?”

 _”Mmm.”_ She rested her cheek on his palm, looking up at him looking down at her. “Want you t’know that,” he said, eyes heavy. “Mean so much…”

“I know.” Adal pressed his hand closer, and let go. “Come on. Get your jacket off at least.” He grinned again, reaching for her as she stood, took the front of his duster. “Buddy, _work with me_.”

He slid his arms up her back, pulling her down. “Come _on_ , man!” He muttered some thing frustrated and unintelligible as his fingers curled over the neck of her armor. “Ulysses.”

“Courier,” he said, placing a kiss where her neck met her jaw. Slower, luxuriating in the word, “ _Adal._ ”

“Ulysses,” through her teeth. She took a breath, counting slowly.

“Mmn.” He shook his head. “Unfair,” he said, running his fingers through her hair as she tried to lean back. Put his lips near her ear. “Tell you mine, Adal, heart, to hold safe…”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you—hell and a half, man.” She pushed away, and he let her, hands trying to find a way under her armor. “Enough. Ain’t in the mood.”

“No?” He got one of the catches at her side undone, mostly by luck. “Go slow,” he said, as she pulled his hand away. “Please you,” he said, voice low, throaty. “Done wrong to you, Courier. For Adal…” She pushed his duster down, and he let go long enough for her to slip it off. “Offer everything of me, to you.” He shook his hands free of it, one slipping between her legs, the other on her belt buckle.

She pushed him back. “Swear to god, I ain’t dealing with whiskey dick tonight.”

“With…?” He chuckled. “No need to. Greedy with you,” he murmured, stroking at her. “Let me…”

“NO.” Adal took his wrists, throwing his arms up above his head. He lay there, stretched the length of the bed, grinning like an idiot. “Fine, you’re keeping your pants on. Not fooling around with you like this.”

“Hn.” He pushed up onto his elbows as she started shedding her armor. “…Angry with me.”

“Ain’t mad.” She didn’t _want_ to sleep in jeans, but his grabby self needed all the barriers she could find.

“M’sorry.” He looked away from her undressing, very clearly wanting to watch. “Love you.”

“I love you too, you soggy bar mop,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She poked him on the shoulder, leaning him forward. Adal slid her legs under him, propping herself up on pillows and letting him lay back against her. She patted him on the arm with her canteen. “Drink. Y’won’t hurt as much tomorrow.”

He obliged, resting it on his chest between mouthfuls. “Don’t deserve you,” he said, pressing his head back against her belly to look at her. “Good to me. Better’n I deserve.”

“You sure don’t right now, big guy.” She rested her hands on his chest, and he stroked at them. “And god knows why I am.”

“Have every reason to hate me,” he mumbled. “But you…You are,” she fended off the hand reaching for her face, “you are ‘mazing.”

“Go to sleep, Ulysses,” she said, running her fingers through his braids. “You don’t wanna sober up awake.”

He sighed at the feeling. “Saw Marius, there,” he said, and chuckled. “Left with a woman. Stil’n the city. Might still…”

“Hush. Saw him too,” ignoring the knife in her gut. “Deal with it tomorrow.”

“Tomorr’.” He might have dropped off, but he shifted with her as she tried to get more comfortable. “Now’s…You.” He stroked at her arm, resting on his chest. “Hard on the Courier. Have to be. Adal…you…” He put a sloppy kiss on the inside of her elbow. “Love you.”

“I know,” she said, trying to discreetly wipe the spot.

“Watched you, n’the Divide,” he said, eyes closed. “Way you fought. Was…” He made a vague, appreciative sound. “Loved you for it.”

“Sure wasn’t my looks. Ain’t that pretty.”

“No.”

“Well, you didn’t have to agree that fast.” He mumbled another apology, grasping her free hand. She didn’t fight it. “Settle down, I don’t take it personal.”

“Thankless work, Mojave. Still, things you do for people… Ruthless, beautiful love…”

He was kissing her fingers between words, and she pulled them out of reach. “This is all real sweet of you, man, but if you wanna tell me this shit, do it sober.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead. “The rest of the water, then go to sleep, dummy.”

“Not tired,” he murmured, but couldn’t keep his eyes open. “M’not worthy of you. Even…even kind to me when’m like this.” She stayed quiet this time, rather than give him something to build on, sighed when he continued anyway. “Beautiful. You _are_ beautiful… Think of you so much…” She stroked at his hair again, hoping it would distract him. “Good t’so many people. Never thought you’d be good to me.”

“Thought you hated me, after the Divide…after that package came,” she said.

“Did.” He shook his head, rolling it against her belly. “Found you survived…wanted you to suffer it. S’I had. Mojave told stories of you…wrong ones. Didn’t know you, way I did.”

Adal reached up to smooth the hair on the back of her neck, told herself the venom in his voice was from another time, another place. “You’re drunk as shit, my man, blowin’ hot and cold like that. Just…go to sleep, already.”

“Nn.” He pushed himself up, rolling to wrap an arm around her middle. “Someone…had to pay, for the Divide.”

She tried to shift away, but couldn’t. Adal took a deep breath. “You wanted me dead.”

“No. Yes. Wasn’t…needed someone to…” he said, resting his head on her. “I hurt,” he said, the words almost lost. “Wanted to see anyone…Make them…”

“Don’t. Not now.”

“…ev’rything I felt. Test you. You were Vegas’…s’s only hope. Needed you tough. Put Divide on your back, out of my heart.” He moved with her as she wriggled away, getting a foot on the floor. “ _Courier_ … had to be broken.”

“Ulysses.” She pried his arm off her waist, but didn’t stand. “Jesus Christ, we gone this long without talking about this shit, I sure as hell don’t need it now.”

“Risked your death for it. Couldn’t survive, deserved it…that _machine_ did,” he said, a snarl in his voice even as he rested his head on her back. “Thought I’d die. Deserve to. Honor, die at your hands…”

“ _Stop_.”

“Enemies then. I…” He held her tight, mumbling praise as he drifted off to sleep.

Adal stared at the floor, hands white-knuckled on the edge of the bed, unable to stop the unease in her gut.


	9. Chapter 9

Adal slid out under his arm the next morning, snagging her canteen as she went. He murmured as she left, and when she returned, was sitting on the bed with head in hands. She held the canteen under his nose. “Top of your skull gonna fall off?”

Ulysses took it and grunted, taking a sip without moving his head.

“Flush it out as well you can. I got some Fixer still, if you think your stomach’ll handle it.”

“Just water,” he said. “Do this for fun?”

She shrugged, grabbing her stack of clothes from where they had fallen on the floor. “You never had a taste for chems.”

A grunt in the negative. She kept her head down, neck prickling as she skinned out of her loaned clothes, got her own things on as quickly as she could. “Courier. What was said…”

“You were drunk. Said a lot of things.”

He could see the out, had to. She shrugged her armor on, doing up the catches on the side, the solid weight of it a comfort. “Stand by it. The good in it. Want to—”

“Don’t. Ain’t doing this _now_ :”

His feet padded on the floor as he stood. She faced him, staring at his chin rather than look up. “Owe you honesty, Cour—”

Adal raised a finger, nearly cutting the air between them. “No. Here’s how it is. Lot of blood between us, good and bad. Right now, I’m holding on to the good. You wanna talk about things that happened back when, you be _real_ sure.” She gave in, looking up under her brow. He looked down, mouth set thin and eyes still drawn in pain. “Had it on my mind all fucking night, working it over. An if I get thinkin’ again about you and me _before_ we were you and me, I’m gonna think about it damn hard, and there’s a chance I won’t come to the same answers.” She lowered her hand. “Right now I got a war to stop. You wanna have this out, we do it back home.”

He sighed, a long breath through his nose. “Don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

Ulysses reached out for her, and she drew back. She looked away from the hurt on his face. “Just let it lie. Might have been enemies then, but doesn’t mean it sits well now. Let it lie.”

Adal didn’t watch him as she finished getting dressed, hearing him do the same behind her. “Medina wouldn’t come around. Scavengers came back empty handed,” he said. She kept her back turned, heard the hollow sound of him pulling on boots. “East of Flagstaff now, puts us approaching through the ruins housing most of the siege. Looking at difficult passage in.”

“Has to be a way around it,” she said, patting her pocket. The pack of prewar cigarettes crunched, and she wrinkled her nose at the smell. “Doubt we’ll get in quiet after yesterday.”

“Hn.” She looked back at him, fishing that heavy necklace of his out from under his shirt. “No way to say if Sedona sent word of you to the front. Could be looking at short time. Marius may have a better guess.”

Marius, Alam… And the girl from last night. She pulled out a cigarette. “He got any contacts here?”

“Might. Flagstaff must have more agents in the field.” He made a face, took it from her fingers.

“C’mon, wasn’t gonna smoke it in here,” she said, trying to take it back. He held it under his nose. “One night of drinking and you’re taking up habits?”

“Where’s this from?” he said, inspecting it.

“Townie girl on the wall. A gift. Her name was…” Adal rubbed at her head. “Shit. It’s fuzzy, I can’t…” Her eyes shot open. “That fucking snake. It’s not clean, is it.”

“Doctored,” he said, handing it back. “Herbal. Don’t know what.”

“We were talking about…” She scrabbled for the thought. “Fuck _me_. Asking about the Limitanei. You, Marius.” She grabbed her rifle like she could throttle it. “We ain’t letting her out of town.”

“Going to shoot her?” He followed her out into the hall. “Courier, can’t interfere more here…”

“Too bad, I got some fucking questions. Was a bit shorter’n me, good bit younger. Light skin, black hair, long’n wavy. White skirt,” she said, looking over the people wandering between the roundhouse and the tumbledown shacks. “Caught her with…”

“Marius,” Ulysses said. She scowled up at him. “Saw them walk off.”

“You _let_ ‘em?”

He held up his hands. “Dealing with Medina.”

“That didn’t send up a little red flag that—”

“Seemed harmless enough, she approached him—”

“Christ, man, he’s my…” She glanced at the people milling through the roundhouse, no one close enough to hear. “He’s an enemy agent. And you let him run off?”

“Not my concern. _You_ let him walk..” He wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, muttered, “Went somewhere private. Not following that.”

“Jesus.” She shook her head, moving out to the mess of railcars. “Listen, you go after Holloway. He’s in charge of the guards here, he might’ve seen something. I’ll go after this girl.”

“You don’t need to.” Adal spun, and a woman put her hands up. “Okay, shoot me and you get _nothing_.”

Adal sighed through her nose, lowered her rifle. “You better have a damn good explanation.”

“I do,” Luz said, stepping out of the gap between cans. “And I need your help.”

She and Ulysses shared a look. “Holloway,” she said, stepping away.

“He’s gone. Part of the problem,” the woman said. She hauled the door aside on the nearest railcar. “Come on. Privately.”

Adal stuck her head in, swept the interior before stepping up. Bunk beds took up the whole back wall, vacant, a few screens to keep each set separate. She threw the pack of cigarettes at her as Ulysses followed her up. “Talk.”

She caught them as they bounced off her chest. “For what it’s worth? I never would have approached you if I had recognized Marius sooner. My name is Lucia. I’m an agent for Flagstaff.” Adal glanced at Ulysses, who tipped his head at her. “He was going to find me in Sedona, but I was sent here.”

“Why?”

“Not in my orders to fill you in.” Lucia fidgeted with the cigarettes, almost drawing one out, but thought better of it. “But you want Holloway, and I want Marius. Best guess is they’re both at least an hour out of town, with Medina’s lackeys driving them.”

Adal swore under her breath, and Ulysses rubbed his forehead. “Medina. Talked about solving a problem for us…”

“Where have they gone?” she said.

“West is my best guess,” Lucia said. She followed as Adal as she hauled the door open. “Medina has interests that way.”

“Legion?” Ulysses asked. Adal slowed, on the stairs.

Lucia shrugged. “That’s what I’ve been trying to confirm.”

“Any chance Marius went willingly?”

Adal took a breath, pushing the anger down. “The hell are you…?”

“If he gets word to Venator that you’re here…” Ulysses looked grim.

“I can’t say. He’s been away a while, I can’t speak to his loyalties,” Lucia said, but there was doubt in her eye. “But I make it a habit of not trusting anyone.”

Adal shook her head, backing away. “Get the men,” she said to Ulysses, tossing a box of Fixer to him and breaking into a jog. “And catch up!”

***

The highway was empty, vehicles long since dragged into town for scrap, and nothing moved on the horizon. Adal ran at a steady lope, Lucia trailing somewhere behind. It seemed too easy, just keeping them on the road, but what other option was there?

She heard a steady beat of boots behind her, and Adal looked back. Lucia had stopped to let the Limitanei catch up, moving in step. Adal turned and kept going, keeping a pace she could hold and letting them prove what they were made of. Sure enough, they came in step with her a few minutes later, keeping pace.

There was a dip on the horizon, and she waved for them to split, a group off each side of the highway. “Are we not continuing to Flagstaff?” Seneca asked, shadowing her.

“Not yet,” she said, rifle in hand as they approached. A stream cut under the road, and the rail line beside.

“Then what is our concern, with these missing men?”

She shot a look at him, his face neutral, waiting. “Ain’t you just here to take orders?”

“The town guard is inconsequential. And we can easily find our way to the city without a traitor’s help.” He walked beside her, gun in hand. “A traitor…that you know?”

“Tell me you left _everything_ behind, when the Legion took you,” she said, voice low. She approached the stream slowly, ears straining for any sign of movement. “You’re old enough. Who were you _before?_ ”

She came around the corner, rifle up, Ulysses doing the same on the far side. She lowered her gun, striding out to the body laying in the ditch. She heard Seneca follow. “I would not matter, Domina. I live only to serve…But why should I risk my life to no purpose?”

She glanced back at him, but said nothing as she crouched next to the body, in rough raider’s armor. “Too fed up for a waster,” Ulysses said, nudging them with a boot.

“Townie. Circle Junction’s, it’d be good cover for Medina’s scavengers.” She rolled their head, looking at the single gunshot through their brain—what was left of it. “Someone’s fighting back. There anywhere nearby they might be headed? An outpost, meeting point…?”

Seneca glanced at Ulysses. “Two Guns?”

“Caves there,” Ulysses said. “On the 40, few hours out.”

“Why is everything here so fuckin’ far away,” she muttered, climbing back towards the road, then snorted at herself. Starting to sound like a townie.

***

Ulysses saw the Courier hesitate, ahead on the road. Cars blocked his view, and it wasn’t until he was nearly beside her, crouched next to the body on the road. Legion—but rather than headshot, like the few raiders they had found, a pair of large-caliber rounds had shattered the chest of his armor. He narrowed his eyes. He lay outside Adal’s reach, but the bandanna on his face had been cast aside, revealing a stranger.

“If one of the folk they captured got loose, they’d’ve just killed ‘em,” she said, standing.

“Possible one fought free,” he said. He glanced aside, sweeping the horizon. The land here was flat, uninterrupted, difficult territory to mount an ambush, hide a group. “Doubt there’s more than one. Picking them off slow, at range.”

Most of the Limitanei were behind them, buffer between the Courier and pursuers, Lucia still trailing the group. Most gazed out at the expanse, watching, with one of the men staring at her back. The grip on his gun was a little too high, but he seemed to catch Ulysses’ look, turning north to face the plain.

“I only call it a favor that we are continuing towards Flagstaff,” Seneca muttered, falling in step with him as the Courier kept moving. There was tension in him, frustration, machete loose in its sheath and mouth set hard. “What plan has she, that makes these men so important?”

“Plans to find a quiet way to the city,” Ulysses said. “Rather fight through the siege?”

“This other agent is enough, then,” he said, jerking his head back at Lucia. “Perhaps she can prove herself more trustworthy than the last one.”

Adal had her head down, moving at a steady lope, but slowed fractionally as he spoke.

“Orders, Decanus, are to follow her,” Ulysses said. “Marius is needed alive. All you need to know.”

He sighed through his nose, still grim, and nodded.

The sun hit its peak as they went, sending shimmers of heat up from the ground. It made the shape of buildings ahead slow to resolve, only a few tumbledown roofs left standing. “This is it,” he called to Adal, bringing weapons to hand.

She didn’t look back, doing the same. “Get close, surround ‘em. I want a look before the shooting starts.”

They kept low, moving in twos and threes. The old ghost town wasn’t far off the highway, giving them cover in the vehicles on the road, weeds that had grown up in the poor soil. Tucked behind a car, Ulysses made out a figure in armor patrolling along a listed roof, the walls under it crumbling. Raising the scope on his rifle, he made out Holloway kneeling within, hands bound, alongside four other townies. The raiders were clustered against an inner wall, armed but uneasy. And gun in hand, standing over the captives…

He lowered the the scope, looking away. A Legionary, wearing an old-world breastplate, rather than the usual Legion gear. Marius.

Adal was to his left, crouched behind a stand of boulders. She steadied her rifle on them—iron-sighed brush gun, couldn’t see what he could. Too far to call to her, warn her, and he half-stood, an eye on the patrolling man—

A gunshot rang out on the far side of the camp, a rifle round, from a point too far for the Limitanei to have reached. The Legion in the shelter came alert, moving to cover against it, leaving their backs open. Adal opened fire, and the Limitanei followed suit.

Ulysses brought the rifle up again, bile in the back of his throat.

_You know what it takes, convincing yourself it’s better not to know if you shot your own son?_

He sighted on Marius. He stood in profile over the captives, watching the Legionaries as they began to panic. Easy headshot.

Ulysses heart pounded as his finger found the trigger—and Marius dropped to a knee. A flash of a knife, and Holloway was standing, taking the pistol Marius tossed to him. Marius stepped away, standing and turning in one easy motion to open fire on the nearest Legionary, his back turned.

“Don’t kill the raiders!” Holloway shouted, stepping into the open. “They’re from town, our people!”

The gunfire slowed, stopped. Adal moved up, reloading her rifle, gesturing for the Limitanei to follow. Ulysses fell in beside her, and they shared a quick up-and-down glance, assurance the other wasn’t hurt, before facing ahead. Marius stepped out of the building as he did, and Ulysses heard the Limitanei in sight of him mutter—but Marius raised his hands, empty, SMG slung.

He heard Adal sigh as he did, but she straightened, looking to Holloway. “You hurt? Any of your people?”

“Nothing serious. They took me as I was coming off my shift,” Holloway said, half-watching the ‘raiders’, their weapons cast down as their former captives stood over them. “I don’t know about the others, but they dragged us out here in the dark.”

“Met with the Legionaries near the 99,” Marius said, drawing even with them. “Talked them into thinking I’d been taken by mistake. Our raiders didn’t have the…” A glance at Ulysses, “Guts, to argue.”

“Weren’t sure what you were up to at first, but thank you for it.” Holloway reached out, grabbing a hood off one of the raider’s heads.

The man under it cringed up at him as he smiled. “Holloway, I’m sorry, this was—this was a mistake. We were just following orders…”

“Fuck you, Stan. You were always Medina’s dog, weren’t you?” Holloway turned away, shaking his head. “Glad your backup finally got here. You slowed them down, picking them off like that, but no way you could have kept it up forever.”

“What?” The Courier slung her gun. “I just got here.”

Ulysses traded a look with her. “Spent all morning on the highway, following corpses.”

Holloway narrowed his eyes. “I heard a rifle, and they were talking about a woman—”

There was a shot, away from the road, a cry of pain. “Hold them here,” she called, gesturing for Ulysses to follow.

One of the Legionaries had made a break west, toward a ravine, the safety of the caves there. The Courier slowed from a jog to a walk, rifle ready, and Ulysses brought his SMG to hand. Someone was crouched over the body, back to them. “Stand up and turn around, slow.”

They didn’t react, a dirt-colored cloak humped up over a pack, hiding their body. They reached to pull the scarf off the Legionary’s face, turning it one way, the other, before letting him go. “Gave you every chance to come after me, you know.”

Adal lowered her gun. There was a hollow hiss to the voice, some defect in their teeth and jaw. Ulysses kept his raised, shot her a look.

The figure stood, picking up the rifle on the ground beside them, markings on the stock. “But I suppose you never cared enough to try, did you?”

They turned. Her face was lined from age and weather, skin a russet-gold, black hair gone well to silver. Her jaw was set crooked, misshapen, an old break poorly healed. It turned her expression to a sneer as she looked Adal up and down. “Working with these butchers now? Expected better of you, cousin.”

Ulysses looked between them, words failing. Adal finally managed to find a breath, something between a grimace and a smile on her lips as she met the stranger’s gaze. “Heh, yeah. So did I, Peda.”


	10. Chapter 10

“He got a _cut?_ ”

“Listen, okay, I’m just telling you what I overheard.” The ‘raider’ raised his hands to fend off Holloway’s look, bound together at the wrists. “It’s why he fought you so hard on the wall project. Remember? Said it wasn’t worth the effort?”

Adal rubbed her face, turning to Lucia. “This all true?”

“Oh, every word,” she said, pausing for a drag on her cigarette. “Suppose I could tell you, now. Flagstaff had suspicions about the deal for years, but it looks like it was mostly kept off the books. They sent me to keep him from resuming it with Venator. I wanted to catch him in the act, and, well…”

Adal narrowed her eyes at her. “Ain’t that lucky.”

“You forced his hand a bit. He probably wanted to send you, but I don’t think he was going to risk Venator taking you without fair pay,” Lucia said. “Figured he’d send a traitor and some of his troublemakers, offer to make a deal on your head.”

Adal stared over at them, the raiders talking over each other as they tried to explain, Holloway looking on thunderously. “Any particular reason he wants me alive?”

Lucia shrugged. “Our intelligence says he’s…not much of a winner, in the ‘human decency’ department. Make up your own explanation.”

The Limitanei were regrouping, cleaning out the Legion’s cache in the ruins. Seneca gave her a meaningful look, and Adal nodded at the highway. “Go scout the road, I’ll get things wrapped up here.” His nod was a little reluctant, but he gestured for his men to move on. “You coming with?” she said, eyeing Lucia.

“May as well,” she said, flicking her cigarette aside. “Sounds like Holloway has a bone to pick with Medina, and the clout to follow it up. Flagstaff will have more orders for me.”

“You’re getting us in.”

A cool look from her. “Of course.”

Adal looked past her, into one of the buildings. Marius and Ulysses were talking, Ulysses with his arms folded, Marius relaxed, a thumb in his belt. He had his scarf up over his face, hiding it, but god, his eyes…

“What pie _don’t_ you have a finger in, now?”

“Nice to see you, too,” Adal said, not looking over her shoulder.

“Wish I could say the same.”

“What, gone blind, granny?”

She looked over. There was a ghost of a grin in Peda’s eyes, but Adal got lost on the age in it, the wear, the lines of fear and strain cut into her. Peda blinked, breaking the look first. “Good to see an old face.”

“Speak for yourself,” Adal said, finally drawing a faint _ha_ from her. “Where the fuck you been?”

Peda bared her teeth. “The hell makes you think you earned that story?”

Adal drew back, tried to keep the hurt off her face. “Peda, you’re the first Walker I’ve seen since…”

“And whose fault is that?”

She looked away. Holloway was stepping away from his people, trying to catch her eye. “Will you be coming back to town with us?”

“I…” Adal glanced over her shoulder, at Peda’s raised eyebrow. She gestured around the side of the nearest building, a bit of exterior wall still standing. “We oughta move on,” she said, with a glance at the road. “Longer we stay in one place…”

“No, I understand,” he said, almost talking over her. “I wish we could offer you something, in thanks. Were you hurt? I don’t…”

“No, we got the drop on ‘em. They never got the chance.”

“Good. Alright.” Holloway nodded, brushing back a bit of hair with a shaking hand. “You tell me, if there’s anything you need from us. I can spare men, if you need them, if you…”

“Take a breath. You got every right to be rattled here.” She gave him a moment to compose himself, leaning on the side of the building. “Now, what’d I need your people for?”

“If you don’t trust yours,” he finished. She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t. They did good work, yesterday. But those guys used to be Legion. I wouldn’t trust them at my back, and if you need some backup out there—”

“It’s fine, man, it’s fine,” she said, waving it away. “We’ve gotten this far. I appreciate the offer, but I’d be dead by now if I couldn’t trust ‘em.”

“You’re certain?” he said. “Hell, I don’t even know _why_ you’ve come this far from Vegas…”

“Long story, Holloway,” she said. “Don’t tell me _you’re_ trying to keep me hanging around here.”

He looked away. “It’s not…Ma’am, you’re going into a war zone. I know you know that, but it’s rough on the conscience to send you off to die.”

“I know what I’m up to, Holloway.” _Mostly._ She folded her arms. “Thank you for your concern. But I got places to be.”

He looked grim, but nodded, fussing with his hair again. “Circle Junction’s always open to you. Twice now, you’ve saved our asses, and we haven’t repaid it halfway.”

“Maybe take you up on it someday. Sounds like Medina’s on the outs.” She caught his hand as he lowered it. “Ellis Holloway, headman at Circle Junction. You’re ever in Vegas, look me up. I’ll put you up somewhere nice.”

“Headman, god,” he said, the weight of it seeming to hit him, as he gripped back. “Hold you to it. If you have any tips on running a city, I’d be grateful…”

Adal snorted. “Just don’t let the assholes get under your skin.”

A wan smile, and he seemed reluctant to let go of her hand. He took a deep breath, letting it out between his lips. “I wondered, you know,” he said, voice low. He wasn’t quite looking at her. “Back then. If you’d ever…”

“Come back?”

He opened his mouth and seemed to reconsider, settled for a nod.

“Never had the patience to walk the same route twice, myself.” She sighed and rested a hand on his. “We were both considering it, right when…”

His hand closed over hers. “Both?”

She met his eyes. He had leaned in close as they spoke, close enough she could see something like realization start to dawn. “I—”

“Courier.”

Adal pulled hastily away, Holloway stepping back. “Hey, there. You,” she said to Ulysses, who was glancing between the two of them, eyebrows drawn down. “Are we, uh…”

His face was flat, unreadable, but his voice was a stranger’s. “Ready to leave this place.”

“Yeah, good,” she said, taking a step towards him. “Better that we…”

He was already gone.

“That’s my call, then,” she said, looking back. “I’ll swing back through, sometime, see how…”

“Yes, I…We look forward to it.” He met her gaze, countless questions in the eyes, almost ready to reach out and stop her

Adal broke the look first, hoped he could see the regret in it. Turning, she saw Marius and Lucia almost to the road, Ulysses on their heels…

“Don’t tell me he’s just a _friend_.”

…And Peda off to her side.

“Pickin’ up where we left off, then?” Adal said, patting her cigarette pocket and coming up empty.

“Looks like you still need my advice, so yes,” Peda said. “What’ve I got to put in order, here?”

“Careful, boss, don’t bite off more’n you can chew,” Adal said.

The sound of the Circle Junction folk was fading, headed the opposite way on the freeway. She looked over, and Peda gave her a grin made doubly crooked by her jaw. “Missed you, cousin.”

***

The headache had been replaced with occasional waves of nausea as they walked. Ulysses had to take a deep breath to keep it down before asking Marius, “We’re playing to luck, on this?”

“Largely? Yes,” Marius said, mouth twisted. “Short of knocking on the gates, it’s the only way we can contact the Flagstaff forces for entry.”

They had kept the highway to their south, on the horizon, safe distance from any Legion still looking for an easy trail. Ulysses sighed as he looked to it, considering the time, distance, how far Venator’s forces might have spread… “Your contact? Any more information from her?”

“The Temple has had little excuse to send a woman to the front lines,” he said, shrugging. “The Legion remnants are entrenched in the ruins outside the walls. The city is having little success repelling them. Not much else to say.”

“Hn. Stalemate.” Ulysses watched her a moment, in the middle of the group but not part of it, a long arm’s reach between her and the nearest man. “Trust her?”

“Well…”

Quieter, between them, “Sleeping with her?”

“What? No!” Marius said, loud enough that one of the Limitanei glanced back, “No. No, I have some sense. Lucia has only ever been Flagstaff’s agent, not some…” Ulysses tipped his head at him, and he reddened. “She was in the Mojave before the Second Battle, as was I. She had observed our unit and…assumed some of my doubts. Approached me to carry her reports back to the Temple. We’ve encountered each other since.”

“And trust?”

“She is closer to the priestesses than I. If she is keeping anything from me, it’s for a reason.”

“So long as your head stays clear on her,” he said. Looking up, he saw Lucia turn forward again, by a fraction—listening. And over her shoulder… “And this…other Walker?”

She walked at the head of the group, in step with the Courier. Out of earshot, but even at the distance he could tell few words were being said, only quick glances shared between them. Peda, Adal had called her. _Boss,_ no less; noticeably older than either of them, she carried herself as a survivor, shot like a trained marksman. Only sort of person he’d seen the Courier deferring to—now or _before_.

“I know her,” Marius said at last, jarring him back to reality. His voice was low, strained, a look showed his jaw clenched and expression lost. “Erratic, self-serving. Safer if she weren’t traveling with us. And if… _she_ insists she stays, then we need to know what she wants from us.”

 _She_. Couldn’t even name her.

“Do my part there,” he said, with a nod. The motion made his head spin, and he tried to mask a stumble.

Marius was looking at him askance. “Do you doubt my abilities?”

“Conflicts of interest in this,” he said. “No coincidence, the Temple sent you to the Limitanei.”

A pause, with only the rattle of gear and scuff of boots on dirt. “No.”

“Hn,” He kept an eye to the road, a chance shadow or some creature moving on it. “Were working with the assassin, then? Simplest way to goad her to the Temple, without the priestesses showing their hand.”

“Bold claim,” Marius said, but without confidence.

“What do they want from her?”

“That is not for me to know.” He pulled his goggles down, shading his eyes as the sun headed towards the horizon. “My only orders were to lead her to Flagstaff. And unless you _want_ to spend an extra day skirting Venator’s forces to reach a _possible_ contact in Pulliam, we must improvise to do so.”

Ulysses weighed the route, Venator’s potential numbers, the state of siege… “Nearer edge leaves us less exposed.”

Marius nodded. “Should pass it along.”

He took a few more steps before realizing Marius hadn’t moved. Ulysses looked over, and Marius raised his eyebrows at him and nodded ahead. He looked at her back a moment, the symbol on it bright in the sun…

Her and Holloway, standing hand in hand. Shouldn’t have hurt, but lingered like a sliver under the skin.

 _if I get thinkin’ again about you and me_ before _we were you and me, I’m gonna think about it damn hard, and there’s a chance I won’t come to the same answers._

Ulysses waved ahead. “Fill Seneca in. He’ll bring it to her.”

Another nod, more hesitant, and he moved up. Seneca gave him a guarded look as he turned, but let go of his machete as Marius spoke. Adal’s son. One of two, at least. Children she had never spoken of, even to him.

And one of them dead, by the Legion. _Lot of blood between us, good and bad._

Eyes on the ground, a flash of bare feet made him blink. Peda fell in beside him, matching step for step, giving him a sidelong look before facing ahead.

Ulysses returned it, glancing up. Seneca walked with Adal now, voices a low murmur. She rubbed the back of her neck, and he could imagine her sigh, ask how long it would take, the risks. Would that he could speak with her alone, solve this…petty argument, without witnesses.

 _Petty?_ something in him whispered. _Petty, or you do not know the depth of it?_

The pressure of eyes made him look over. Peda didn’t look away, gaze near going through him. He met it, level, not backing down.

Some dozen steps, her feet still landing in time with his, before she gave a little nod. “Nice flag.”

He didn’t let it faze him, looking her up and down. Hooded cloak over a heavy pack, long roll of canvas strapped to the side…and carrying a rifle, a marksman’s weapon, with a symbol not unlike his own on painted on the stock. He nodded to it with his chin. “Bold thing to carry. Some history in it, for a mark like that?”

“Taken off a soldier,” Peda said, slinging it down.

“By you?” Ulysses narrowed his eyes.

“What? No. Couple hundred years ago by now. Salvador’s gun.” She held it away from herself, letting him examine the mark. Even more, less intelligible ones reached towards the grip. He looked up to see her frown. “Adal’s told you none of this?”

“No,” he said. “Hums when she walks. Jodies.”

“That’s all?”

He set his jaw, thinking, felt a little kick of disappointment as he nodded.

Peda slung the rifle up again, frown cutting deeper. She faced ahead a moment, another dozen steps before, “Salvador’s gun. Got taken from an American soldier, just before the bombs fell, trying to hunt the folks who would become Walker as they hid in the hills. Eight other Walker have carried it, counting him. I’m ninth, for driving off a slaver band that hit our camp northeast of Klamath, near the corpse of a lake.”

The silence stretched, until he could ask, “And how do you carry it now?”

“My story to tell. Won’t be to you.” She didn’t look over. “A Twisted Hairs man, walking with old Legion, in their old territory. Adal’s always had shit taste in men, and not even she trusts you. That’s the story you get from me.”

He had to stop himself, take a breath. “Won’t call you wrong for seeing the surface of it,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Digging deeper won’t see it so simple…stranger.”

Peda’s smile was faint, didn’t touch her eyes as she stepped faster, catching up with Adal.

***

The land wasn’t so different from the Mojave here, low hills and dirt, scrub struggling to grow more than waist high. Ulysses directed them to swing north, after they sent men to hunt for dinner, and the low rise they climbed gave Adal a view of the missile craters cutting across the 40. She shook her head. She was spoiled by being so close to Vegas, so little of the land there touched by that part of the War.

One of many ways the Mojave was less frustrating.

“Augh.” Adal dragged a hand down her face. “So let me get this straight. We just have to _hope_ we find a caravan coming in, and _hope_ the city ambushes it?”

“It seems so,” Seneca said, without emotion. “It would be safer for us to—”

“Go back to the Mojave,” she said, fidgeting with her pocket. “That ain’t an option.”

He licked his lips. “We are not, necessarily, bound to enter Flagstaff. Our main goal was to stop the assassin’s accomplice from reaching Venator, which we have done. We may return to our fortifications at any time.”

“Is that the story, now?” Adal said. “Then we’re working at cross purposes, Decanus. You can go back to Aelius if you really want to, but I am seeing this through to the end, and that means stopping Venator _here_.”

She braced herself as he took a breath. “Domina, with all respect, we are too small a group to defend against an army, too large to move discreetly, and host a very valuable target. We are vulnerable. Though time is short, I cannot caution enough against rushing ahead.”

“Thought you boys were all about rushing into danger,” she said, taking a breath of her own as she bit back her snappishness. Fucking nicotine withdrawal. “There’s no way we riled up all of Sedona and word didn’t come out this way. Better we slip in before they _really_ prepare for us.”

“Then I believe we should limit ourselves to my remaining men and your…” She pursed her lips. “Partner,” he finished. “These…hangers-on cannot be trusted, and will only slow our progress.”

“I want Flagstaff’s agents with us,” she said. “Two of them gives us security. And I ain’t negotiating on the other one.”

“The young woman can remain. I trust her no more, but she will be more controllable than our pet traitor,” Seneca said, sharper than she’d yet heard from him. “And this stranger…?”

“I’m vouching for her,” she said. “And the hell has you so mad at Marius?”

“He began this, and caused the death of men both in my squad and back in Kingman,” he said, facing ahead.

“You can’t tell me they didn’t go into this knowing the risks. Ones who died, died fighting, thought that counted for something.” She stared ahead at the sun, sitting fat and red on the horizon, and said, slowly. “That’s my son. I don’t care what you think about the past, or how much I got to remember he’s been Legion longer than Walker. I got a guy for that. But I found him now, and I am _not_ letting you _touch_ him.”

Seneca glanced at her, head slightly bowed. “And how do you know he remains so loyal to you?”

Adal clenched her teeth. _I don’t._ “I don’t need loyalty. All I need is…” She groped after words, and shook her head. “I just need to get through this. All of this. And you can stay with me, and watch my back, or go back west. I don’t care.” He fell behind a half-step. She tried to keep from turning, her nerves twanging at having him just out of sight. “Why the hell’d you even leave the Legion for Vegas, if you ain’t on my side?”

“Because the Legion should have ended at the Dam, under the Malpais Legate.”

She watched him sidelong. Seneca looked steadily back, pacing her. “Caesar’s Legion hinged on the flawless execution of our orders, or risk of execution ourselves. When we failed that first time on the Dam, by our own philosophy, we deserved to die. Yet we pressed on, to no purpose, to cruel means to cruel ends.”

“Call me skeptical, one loss made you a saint,” Adal said.

He shook his head. “No. It did not. I have…done things, in service to Caesar, that do not bear repeating. Or forgiveness,” he said, face grim. “To lose you, Domina, is to end the Limitanei as soon as they have formed—our chance to serve something greater. I cannot let that stand.”

They kept walking, watching each other. Ahead, Lucia moved up beside Ulysses, pointing at the landscape.

Adal looked up, following her gesture. “I can respect that, Decanus,” she said. “But it doesn’t mean shit if this new Legion turns on my home. It ends here.”

“…inhabited, still,” Lucia was saying, sweeping her arm north. “They’ll avoid the hot areas, though.”’

Ulysses frowned, but looked back at her as she approached. “Better we camp for the night.”

“Won’t argue,” she said, stepping up. “We got somewhere safe?”

“Well…” Lucia waved a hand. “Safe-ish…"

***

Lucia led them to a nameless suburb northeast of the city. Missile craters stretched between their location and Flagstaff proper, and they found shelter in a narrow fissure cut by the impacts. Ulysses saw Adal frown at her Pip-boy, the Geiger counter on it clicking higher than background.

“It’ll keep Venator’s men off,” Lucia said, looking out toward the city. “They still patrol this stretch, some of the homes are inhabited. The Temple has a hefty stock of Rad Away, if you’re worried.”

“Whatever,” the Courier said, loosening the ax at her side. “Our hunters gonna find us here?”

“If they’re worth anything,” Seneca said, a little cool. Ulysses kept an eye on him.

She seemed to be doing the same, and nodded up the little canyon. “Case it?”

He nodded back, coming level with her as she turned. She sighed explosively as they got out of sight of the others. “ _Christ,_ my man, this is all going nuts.”

Ulysses laid a hand on her back as they walked, watching shadows and corners for threats. “Gotten complicated,” he said.

“I _know_ that.”

“Was agreeing.”

She sighed again, nudging him with her shoulder as they walked. “You wanna try’n talk Seneca around for me? Don’t think I made much progress on him.”

“I’ll speak with him,” he said. The fissure dropped off, and her Geiger was crackling uncomfortably loud. “Far enough. Fires here…” The Courier kept walking, out to the ledge. “Rather not spend the night rad-sick.”

“Hey, uh.” She waved a hand at the horizon, past the cluster of missile craters. “That Flagstaff?”

He came up alongside. The hills between them and the city were lost in the War, as though a giant’s hand had scooped away fistfuls of earth. Beyond, there were lights, a long string of dim fires and electrics in the ruins of the city, stretching along the highway. They grew denser on the west end, the largest standing part of the city, but reached nearly to the edge of the craters, uncomfortably near.

“That whole area’s under siege?” she said, subdued.

Ulysses shook his head, pointed. “The ring, there.” It was visible even from here, a faint shadow in the pool of lights. “City center is fortified. Walled. Only stronghold Caesar ever cared to build.” He swept his hand, indicating the outer lights. “Rest was only lightly occupied. To hold this much life now…”

“It’s all Legion camps.”

“Likely.” He let his hand drop. “More men than our agents anticipated…”

“Fuck _me_.” She put a hand to her forehead, and gave her Pip-boy a look. “Come on, I ain’t growing my hair just to have it all fall out again.” She turned back up the cut, rubbing at her eyes. “Hard to say what’ll do me in first; Legion, rads, or lack of sleep.”

“Men can keep watch,” he said, catching her elbow as she slipped on a loose stone. “Here to protect you.”

“Yeah, but we’re down two already. Part of what’s got Seneca pissed…can’t really blame him,” she said, voice low, close enough to hear the rest of the group settling. “Shoulda brought ED-E along. Robots don’t need sleep.”

He let go of her arm, pulling away. She looked over, an eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Rather run your Limitanei to the ground.”

She stopped. “I’m _sorry_?”

Ulysses took a few more steps, but halted before rounding the bend to join the others. “Nothing. Hunters are—”

“That wasn’t nothing,” she said, arms folded. “You got something to say?”

He turned to face her, matching her frown. “Limitanei wouldn’t trust in a machine,” he said—and even he heard the evasion in it. “Better it stays in the Mojave.”

“That’s not what this is.” She stepped closer, dropping her voice. “You’re damn lucky I got too much on my plate to get into this, but he—”

“ _He_ ,” Ulysses scoffed. It took a moment for him to realize it had been said aloud, but her silence was more crushing then any words she could have spoken. He couldn’t look at her as he tried to breathe. “Meaning—”

“No. No, I get your meaning,” she said, brushing past him. “And I ain’t here for it.”

***

The Limitanei that had been sent hunting returned with a pair of rats, large enough to go around. With the sun well down, they settled to sleep, a man keeping watch on the edge of the fissure. Lucia had settled furthest from the crater, with Marius between her and the men.

And, on the far side, he could see the light of one last fire behind an outcrop of stone. She hadn’t spoken a word to him as they settled, joined Peda there as he laid out a bedroll on the near side.

Shouldn’t have hurt. Tribe, blood and bone…all deeper, more painful than the heat of passing anger.

“…long story. Lot to tell you before we even get to it.”

Ulysses tried to close his ears to it, but the ravine was quiet, the faint echoes off the stone bringing the voices to him. Would they hear him move…?

“Fair enough.” Peda’s voice, with it’s broken-jaw slur. Old injury, carelessly treated—or unable to be. What story in that? “Got years to tell you of.”

“Thought I hadn’t earned it.”

A pause, a sigh. “You still got the old songs on your breath, when you walk. Quiet, but more’n I do any more.” He heard them shift, hoped it would bring silence as much as he strained to hear. “I don’t even know where to…” The fire crackled. “Sen?”

He heard the soft _snap_ of her toying with her cigarette pocket, still empty. “I…” Adal stopped to swallow. “That morning. The one…after. There were, were traders on the road who cut us, the two of us, down, and…” A ragged breath. “He’d…in the fighting, he was too hurt. I don’t think…don’t think he ever woke up.”

“They buried him.” Not even a question, but the agony of faint hope chasing it.

“Yeah.”

A sniff, a breath. “The fuck are you fidgeting for, it’s driving me crazy.”

“I smoke like hell now, and I’m out.”

“Those things’ll kill you.”

“Peda, I’ve spent the last eighteen years hopping from chem to chem, whatever won’t kill me so fast as the last one. Let me have a fucking vice.”

A soft _huh._ “I got some chewing stuff for trade.”

“Will it burn?”

“Just chew It, _idi_.”

“Fuck off. I’m finding out.” A soft sound of cloth and papers. “Your turn.”

The shuffle of one of them poking the fire filled the silence. Ulysses kept his eyes open, watching the stars over the lip of the ravine. “They took us south. That camp we shredded by the river…They just had more men there. More guns. More crosses.”

“Christ.”

“The fuck’s he ever done for me?” There was no humor in Peda’s voice. “The men, they…I don’t know. Kept them there. Some of the women. I had…” He heard a raw breath, the clearing of a throat. “Ayla. Only reason they didn’t shoot me dead was that baby, and if they knew she was a girl, I…”

He voice choked off. One of them shifted on the rocks, and he heard the steady rustle of cloth. He found himself nearly stroking his own arm in time, as she would have.

“They sent us to Flagstaff. The Temple,” Peda managed, almost below hearing. “Kept me there a while, did what they could for my face, but I wasn’t…They keep the quiet women, the _docile_ ones, to tend their stolen children.”

“You ain’t ever been either,” with no little affection.

A laugh, or a sob. “They took her, Adal. Right out of my arms.”

“I know.”

“And they…” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I tried to fight. They called their guard on me, dragged me off…”

“Shh.” 

“I couldn’t…”

It wasn’t his grief. He had had no children to lose, when the Legion showed their teeth; but family still, torn away…

 _Brought that grief to others enough,_ that soft traitor voice said, _Legion’s hand guiding your own…_

He shut his eyes, felt the tears run.

There were whispers, and he hoped it was enough, it would end. But Adal took a bracing breath. “Yeah, I guess so…I…”

He should leave.

“I left the caravan two…three nights later? I shouldn’t have, I was…God, I was sick, I dunno how I could walk. I don’t even remember. I think I…tried to follow. Get back to the river. Find you, all of you.” A pause, a swish of water in her canteen. Her voice was no clearer for it. “I don’t remember how I wound up in Canaan. If it was the traders who came after me, or I got turned around, made it there myself, but…”

“Decent folk,” Peda sighed. “I heard about the White Legs. Something foul in that.”

He felt his heart skip, the beat of it rising, felt them looking at him in the silence, judging, hatred on her face—

“I…yeah. But that one ain’t mine, tonight.” With _regret_ that made him flinch.

“Another time,” Peda said. “They put you back together?”

The Courier laughed, harsh and bitter. “They tried. Dug the bullets out. Got the body right. The rest…”

A snort. “ _Don. Pehsta_.”

“Yeah? _No repa nu hada predy._ ”

“Fuck off.”

A softer laugh from the Courier this time, but tired yet. “Rusty as hell.”

“Same. How’s that smoking?”

“Sucks, but it’s good enough.”

“Let me try.” The lighter flicked, a pause broken by a muffled cough. “Wasn’t meant to burn, I guess.”

“Nope.” A companionable silence, almost. “Your turn.”

“Shit…” Her voice was muffled briefly, and he imagined Peda rubbing her face. “I just…They just called it general labor. Attached me to a squad a while, take whatever orders I was given. Fetching, carrying, cooking…whatever else they…”

“Yeah.”

She sighed, old and tired, filling in words that didn’t need speaking. “That went for, about… I don’t even want to think…”

“Too long.”

“Too long,” she agreed, voice rough. “Ten…ten fucking years of….of _them_ , of being a fucking _thing_ …Ten _years_ before they gave me a knife sharp enough, for cooking, and we were close enough to the wilds.”

“Ten…Christ, Peda, I…”

“I just ran. Took them the fuck apart with it and ran. Went north. Went…”

“Crossroads.” A silence, time for a nod, some gesture. “Did you…”

“Green River, first. The closest town to…” Peda trailed off. “They heard from the traders, what had happened. Went to…clean up. Mass grave. Separate one for old Santi.”

If the Courier had any reply, it was too faint for him to hear.

“They found some of our guns. Mine, more. Took ‘em all, even if they bitched about it. Went north, and…”

“Empty.”

“Empty. Summer, but must have been the wrong year.”

“Was there any sign, of…?”

“Old. Couldn’t say who, or when.” A deep sigh. “Left most of the rifles. In the south shelters, you know the place. I couldn’t carry…”

“Wouldn’t ask you to,” Adal said.

They both fell silent. He could still feel a low dread in the air, the tension, until Peda asked, “How far did you get, after New Canaan?”

“Far?”

“Coming after us?”

Even the faint sigh of wind over stone seemed to go quiet. “I didn’t…”

“You _what?_ ”

“I…” He could imagine her looking away, studying the far wall of the canyon, the fire, anywhere but looking at his—at _Peda’s_ —face, in that way when the words were slow and heavy. “They kicked me out. I was…I caused more fucking trouble than they’d ever seen one woman make.”

The humor in her voice was feeble, and there was no trace of it in Peda’s. “You didn’t _what?_ ”

He rolled far enough to look over his shoulder. The fire had died to a faint red glow, no longer tended. “Some NCR traders took me in. Got kicked out with me, since I… They caught me with ‘em.”

“And you just went?”

“Peda…”

“You were _free_ ,” she hissed, and even Ulysses flinched. “You were the only one out of three bands to get _out_ , and you didn’t even _try_ and help us?”

“The fuck, Peda, I wasn’t—”

“—I spent _ten years_ , _ten_ after they took my daughter and my wife from me, hoping that _one of us_ might have made it, and—”

“ _You saw what they did to me_.” Talking over her, Peda fell silent. “You were right there. I remember that. You were right there, with the women. And you just _watched_.”

A pause, with the silence singing. “I had Ayla. They would have…”

“Then what the fuck you throwing stones for?”

“For all of us,” she said, still low, but with less heat. “You could have done it. Out of all of us. You proved that, a bit too fucking late.”

“I ain’t the same person I was then.”

“Yeah, the Adal I knew back then would have given a shit about her sons.” 

A sharp _smack_ and a muffled cry followed, with the scrape and rustle of one of them standing. “Don’t you fucking _dare_.”

“And what happened to them? You even know?” Peda’s voice was thick, nasal. “Didn’t care to come find out?”

“Alam is…”

A pause, and Peda laughed, a wet bubble in it. “Fine coincidence, eh? He still call you ma? Or is it ‘profligate’ now?”

“We both know that ain’t luck. He’s…Marius, now,” like the name was foreign, strange, uncomfortable on her tongue. “Ain’t talked to him much. You go guess why.”

“And Ches?”

“You saw what happened to Ches.”

“Yeah. They sorted him in with the men.”

He heard the Courier’s voice, too faint to make out words.

“No,” Peda said. “You didn’t think they…?”

“I f…I found bodies.” Adal’s voice scraped its way out. “Gabrel. The rest. The ones that couldn’t walk. The ones who would’ve fought…”

“He fought.” Peda’s voice was low enough, Ulysses strained to hear. “Adal. He fought like hell, when they started to cull us. They just kept knocking him down, and he kept getting up. Laughed at him, like it was…was some kind of game, and he just…he wouldn’t give in, until they…”

An impact, knees hitting dirt. “I’m sorry,” Peda said, hushed. “Finally the decanus just picked him up and put him with the men, the ones who stayed in the camp. The kids, Alam, they went to the Temple with us. The rest…”

Would have been trained in the field. Forced to fight, their own and other newly captured tribals, weed out the weak and timid. He could see the arena ring, the blood in the sand, a pile of bodies growing as he took the machete from a broken, hollow-eyed victor, passed it to the next capture to—

“I don’t know who you saw, but he didn’t—”

Ulysses stood, not caring about noise. The voices stopped. There was no light from the far side of the rocks. He took half a step towards them, then bent down to gather his things, heading north up the canyon.

Hadn’t turned to him, as they left Circle Junction. Holloway, who was…someone, to her, though he doubted he mattered so much as to draw her away—but a man she had last known decades gone. Hours after finding her, went to Peda to discuss old pain, memories they had not dared face together. Ones that kept him up of nights, ones that had sat on his tongue as he looked at her and she looked back, finally swallowed the weight and old wounds down rather than speak life back into them.

He laid his things down out of sight, close enough to hear one of the men rousing the other for a shift on watch. There was anger in her, now, the scars of her walk of the Divide and their first meeting pulling, straining.

 _Scars? No, that wound never stopped bleeding,_ and he had to look, count stars until he simply stared into the dark.

An old, weary thought twisted through his head, and he shut his eyes. What if he had gone to her? Spoken honestly, instead of games, seeking vengeance, trying to bring the Divide to the rest of the world? Had shared that grief, rather than let it drive him mad, spoken to her as an equal?

Found comfort. Found solace, in her, without blood and pain to stand between them…

_I ain’t the same person I was then._

She wasn’t, perhaps. But that roaring pit of grief and rage welled up in him, and Ulysses rested an arm over his head, a child hiding from monsters.


	11. Chapter 11

“I said leave it.”

“Just saying.” Peda tied the straps shut on her pack. “Heard stories about you and that sledge. That ax can’t do half the work.”

“I survived enough fights without your advice, _boss_ ,” Adal said, not looking at her. Peda snorted. “Like hell I’m carrying that thing cross-country.” They kept packing up their things on the far end of the ravine, not looking at each other. In the silence, Adal finally sighed through her nose as she tied up her hair. “Can’t swing it,” she said quietly. “Shoulder’s gotten…weird. Always been a little loose, right, but slugging it out with Lanius…” Adal shrugged, looking away. “Ain’t been right since.”

Peda slowed, pulling bits of cloak out from under her pack. She opened her mouth to speak, then rounded on the bend to the north, hand at the revolver on her hip.

Seneca came around the bend. “Domina,” he said flatly, giving Peda a look. “We have spotted Legion patrolling nearby. Its time we moved on.”

“Shit. Alright,” she said, waving for Peda to settle. The sun was just thinking about coming up, stars almost fully faded. “Get everyone together, I’ll catch up.”

“Funny him coming, and not your man,” Peda said, holstering her gun. She watched Adal climb to her knees, folding up her bedroll. “You two fighting?”

“Don’t.”

Adal finally looked at her, could just make out the bruising on her nose, in the predawn light. Peda tipped her head. “Had money on you and Wilm, you know. After you finally kicked Jeth’s ass. Figure I woulda won, seeing him. You got a type.”

She said nothing as she tied her bedroll to her pack, and Peda stood with her. “No comment? Adal, thought you had _opinions_. You and Jeth screamed ‘em enough at one another—”

“What the fuck do you want?” Peda didn’t flinch as Adal rounded on her. “Ten years, ‘til you got free. That leaves eight, until you find me _now_ of all fucking times, and you’re here to…what? To get me killed, with all this…?” She waved her hands.

Peda stared back, cool. “I want back into that Temple,” she said, eyes on hers. “I don’t care what politics you’re chasing, Lady Luck. They took my baby. You’re my only ticket in. And if she’s not there anymore, they know where she went.”

“And you’re getting there by having your face broke again?” Adal was close enough to feel her breath, leaned in closer still as she said, “I ain’t ever getting mine back, so I ain’t about to give you that pain. But there’s more riding on this than me, if I die out here, or this all goes south.” She glanced up the canyon. “You got a problem with me, go talk with Marius. He’s got plenty of _opinions_.”

It was Peda who broke the look first, turning to leave. “We need to get moving.”

She followed her up the slope of the ravine. The Limitanei stood clustered together, Ulysses on his own, and Lucia and Marius murmuring to each other. All of them looked to her at once, and she hid how her footsteps faltered at the impact of it. She stopped with her thumbs in her pockets, watching them watch her, the silence worse than any words they could have thrown at her.

Adal cleared her throat. One of the Limitanei stopped shifting his weight, and Peda looked back from staring at Marius. “What’s our situation?” she said.

“At least one Legion patrol is in sight of us,” Seneca said, crisply. “They may pass us by, but we have no way to guarantee it.”

“There’s a good chance…” Marius tensed as they looked to him, but continued, “Good chance it’s the head of Venator’s Praetorians leading them. Our guess is that they know Flagstaff is ambushing their caravans, and he’s putting an end to it.”

Adal held her elbow in one hand, rubbing her face with the other. “That means they’re expecting one through, soon.”

“If their guess is correct,” Seneca said.

She glanced at Ulysses for input, but he avoided her eyes. Adal rubbed the frown off her face. “I’m willin’ to work under the assumption,” Adal said, “since it means we have something solid.” Seneca didn’t quite frown, and Marius drew back a little, surprised. “What’s our plan, then? Kill this Praetorian and his squad, then hope the city’s sending people after this caravan in particular?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Lucia said. “Calidus was nearly made Legate in his own right, our little…” she gave the lot of them a sidelong look, flicking ash off her cigarette, “party…would barely slow him down. Besides, if he’s dead, Venator will know _exactly_ where we are.”

“But we’ll have gotten into the city,” she said. “And killed one of his best men.”

“ _If_ we catch the city’s people,” Lucia said.

Adal sighed through her nose and shrugged. “Well, we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. Just put us on a caravan route and we’ll wing it.”

They crept one at a time out of the fissure, pressing into the flattened homes closest to the crater. They were just dense enough to give them cover, moving low, but Adal could make out figures along the freeway, too far to get a clear look. They kept their heads down, keeping the highway to their left, heading deeper west towards Flagstaff and more intact cover.

Adal couldn’t keep from glancing over her shoulder as they crept along. They reentered the old suburbs, the mostly-standing houses only making her more nervous. Moving in small groups to cover each other, she followed the shadow of a sagging fence as she caught up to Lucia. “The 40 was the most likely route for caravans, yeah?”

“More or less,” Lucia said, leaning against a house as Seneca’s group moved ahead. “Why?”

Adal jerked her head back the way they had come. “If they’re here to intercept one, why’ve they followed us away from the road?”

Lucia’s eyes didn’t go wide, but Adal caught the shift in her expression. Seneca looked back, sheltering next to a truck on the road, and she gestured for him to hold. Glancing on her trail, she did the same to Ulysses, who pressed himself against the fence. A shadow moved up behind him, and Peda shook her head, still walking as Adal gestured for her to wait. “They’re on us.”

“Are there any other caravan routes?” Adal said, not looking back at Lucia.

“Highway 180, north of the city cent—”

“Split up. Lead them away, or we will. Pick ‘em off if you get the chance,” Adal said, gesturing to Seneca. To Lucia, “I want you with one group, Marius in the other. Talk us in if we get found.”

She pushed ahead, and Seneca straightened. “Domina, we—”

“You and one of…” Adal said, looking over her shoulder as she passed. Lucia had fallen in beside Ulysses, cutting along a road the way they had come. Peda glanced at her, seeming to count. Adal jerked her head for her to follow, but she pursed her lips and turned away.

“Two of yours,” she sighed, looking at them. Beyond, Marius was crouched beside a car, tense and waiting. “The 180,” she said, as she passed him. “Know how to get there?”

They doubled back on themselves as they went, Seneca and the two Limitanei ranging wider to confuse their trail. Adal stopped catching glimpses of the Legionaries through the buildings, and she gestured for the men in sight to stop, head raised to listen.

Nothing, but for the rustle of weeds in the breeze. She straightened, a hand still on her rifle. “We either shook them or they’re getting the drop on us,” she said, just loud enough to carry. “Keep going, but keep your eyes open.” Seneca nodded to her, signaling to one of his men out of sight in the ruins. Not quite turning to the figure off her shoulder, she said, “You can get us where we need to be?”

After a pause, Marius said, “Head west.”

The rest of the trip was quiet, of the kind that made her neck prickle and her ears ring, listening for any threat at their backs. They stayed on a side street for speed, the dead-eyed windows of the old residential area staring at them as they passed. Plenty of places for a squad to hide, for an ambush—all it would take was one marksman, with enough vantage and warning…

She jumped when she heard the Geiger counter in her Pip-boy tick up, the crackle enough to pluck at already frayed nerves.

“Another couple craters near here.” Adal didn’t look back at Marius, but turned her head to listen. “We can keep south of them. There’s a handful of ghouls who squat here from time to time, but they’re harmless.”

She nodded, gesturing for him to lead. She heard his footsteps stutter, but he drew level with her. He took a breath, and she turned to look at him, close enough to touch. God, he looked like Jeth, grown into someone sharply handsome; but that was her stubborn chin, the shape of the face…

Marius looked down and kept walking, overtaking her.

It wasn’t until the highway came into view that the silence was broken. Even that was only a murmur from Seneca, having his men case an old diner beside the road, the most intact building there. She, Seneca, and Marius stood outside, watching the ruins for movement.

Adal shifted her weight. “How often—” Marius nearly jumped, looking at her. She held up a hand. “How often have these supply caravans been coming through?”

“At least twice a week, depending on the route,” he said, eyes on the ruins. “The city has been taking as many as they can, but even if one comes through, there’s no guarantee they will intercept it.”

She sighed through her nose. “Nothing for it but waiting, then,” she said.

A clank as the door opened, and their sniper, Marcus, stuck his head out. “The building’s clear, Domina, sir. There is a roof access as well.”

“Then tell us from up there,” Seneca said, not quite cross. Marcus flapped a hand at him and let the door fall shut. Following him in, Adal swept the room, the booths still mostly intact, tables overturned. The cash register lay on the floor, amid a scatter of Old World coins.

The other Limitanei hefted the corpse of a mole rat, super sledge on his shoulder. “Nest of them in the basement. Wouldn’t recommend going back down.”

“Eatin’ tonight, though,” Adal said. She considered hopping the counter to reach the kitchen, but sighed and went around instead. She could hear Peda taunting her for her age, even miles away. “Anything good left back here?”

The one with the sledge said nothing, and as the kitchen door swung shut, she heard Seneca mutter, “She _is_ addressing you.” Something was mumbled back, and she almost grinned at Seneca’s exasperated, “We shot protocol dead back in Kingman, Varro. Weren’t you there? She was naked for the funeral.”

Adal rattled a series of bottles as she dug through the fridge, hoping it would muffle her snort.

***

They turned back on themselves, Ulysses leading them east along the 40. As they crept through the ruins, he heard the Legionaries calling to each other, changing direction in their wake. Pressing back into the shadow of a dumpster, he waved for Lucia to go ahead. She kept low as she passed, head turning as she scanned her path. Rifle in hand, he looked back the way they had come, one of the Limitanei bringing up the rear.

Not turning away, he stood, keeping to cover as he followed. He caught a glimpse of a Legionary through the buildings, ahead of the rest, the bulk of a ballistic fist on one hand. He raised his rifle, considering—but the man was out of sight behind a house, and he could hear the footsteps of another to his left.

Ulysses slung his gun and headed after the others. Peda had hung back, covering his advance, one of the Limitanei just past her. It put a tension in his back, knowing they were behind. Traitors, wild cards, men with allegiances beyond him.

What a fool situation to be stuck in.

Lucia took them through a looping course of the town’s ruins, trailing back on themselves and taking erratic turns, trying to shake the Legion squad. They seemed to fall back, but he caught sight of them, further along their trail, still pursuing as the day wore to noon.

They took shelter in a home in the hottest part of the day, sharing out a handful of trail rations, all with uneasy eyes looking out the windows. The three Limitanei took up posts on the ground floor, watching the approach from the road. Ulysses headed upstairs, hoping to find vantage, fought the urge to spin and fire at the footsteps that followed. He slowed the motion, and Peda gave him a cool look, turning into one of the bedrooms.

He took one across the hall, overlooking the neighborhood. Some long-gone survivalist had set up sandbags under the window, a scattering of ammunition beside it, and a box of water bottles and dry food on the bed. He helped himself as he sat, scanning the buildings for movement. Motionless for now, but no guarantee it would stay so. Something about the stillness put a knot in his stomach

It made him restless, sitting idle while they were hunted, but the bulk of their work was done—the Legion had followed them, rather than the Courier. The Courier, now surrounded by unknown quantities, and him nowhere to aid. Should have gone with her. Should have taken her aside, with fewer ears to overhear, gotten to the core of this…issue. This distraction, the wrong words between them and more needed to mend them, not looking ahead as they wandered blind into the jaws of another war.

She had asked for his help. He had given as much as he could, warned her, trying to keep her safe—only to have her reject them, to turn away, to look to strangers and long-losts for aid. Easier to leave her to it, let her find her own way, if she thought of him so poorly. 

The thought brought the guilt closer, nipping at his heels. Should have gone with her.

Light footsteps came up the stairs, and he tried not to react as Lucia entered, righting a chair on the far side of the room. He kept his eyes out the window. “Have any words for me, better be answers.”

Lucia smoothed her skirt around her legs as she sat. “Depends on the question.”

Ulysses narrowed his eyes at her. She gazed back under dark lashes, hands clasped on her lap. Demure, sweet, with a face that would turn heads and a gaze that could put a stutter in a voice.

He could make out the pommel of a knife in her boot, the hard, cold expression behind her eyes. She had found a brush gun somewhere, similar to Adal’s, slung at her back. “I recommend killing one of your men. He’s restless with how many of them have died on this mission.”

He almost turned towards the door, hearing the men’s voices from the floor below, then back to the window. “Not going to kill them,” he said. “Knew the risks, coming along.”

“You don’t need to kill all of them, just the one with the carbine,” Lucia said. “Though I suppose you’d make enemies with the other two fairly fast.”

He thought back, trying to match names—but few words had been spoken between he and them, the Limitanei perhaps as distrustful of him as he was of them. The young one, with the gut wound, still fragile. The other two were veterans, men trained to follow orders without thought—but one had confronted the Courier shortly out of the Limitanei camp, with the carbine. “Let him be restless. Knows what will happen, raises a hand to us.”

Lucia shrugged, but didn’t move. “Your funeral.”

He kept his eyes on the road, tensing as he heard Peda shift in the other bedroom. She’d made no mention of the previous night…no saying if that was avoidance or ignorance of his overhearing. But the Courier had said no word either, and she—

He shut out the thought. Leave it for a quieter time. “Have a reason for distracting me?”

“Have I got you that flustered,” she said, deadpan. “Just passing along a warning. I could make it look like an accident.”

“No,” he said. “Rejoining with Seneca soon, he’ll have a shorter leash on him.”

Lucia shrugged, fishing a cigarette and lighter from a jacket pocket. “If you say so.”

“Could be of some _use_ ,” he said. “Tell me about Venator. What does the Temple know of him?”

She looked at him sidelong. “My superiors haven’t—”

“You lose nothing by telling me.”

Not quite a smile from her, and she folded one leg over the other. “Flagstaff’s records are sketchy, few of our women have had direct contact with him until the last few years. But he was tribal-born, young enough he was recruited as a Legionary, but too old to be sent to a Temple. You know the type of man that turns out.”

He glanced at her, but she just flicked ash from her smoke, face impassive as she looked out the window. He followed her gaze, something like a weight finding his shoulders. Could tell, by speaking with a Legionary, if he was born to the Legion or conscripted, or a willing fighter. Men born to it, knew nothing else, were violent—unflinchingly so—but were like animals toying with prey, taught nothing of temperance or restraint. He felt something like pity in his gut, shaking his head slightly as he swept it away.

Adult men were rare recruits, but either willingly gave their freedom to the Legion or had some skill beyond war that made them useful. Some took to it, some died for their lack. Those taken young fared better, the priestesses playing their role to mend the wound of tearing away an old life. Marius came to mind—remembered him younger, walking his footsteps on the road to another tribe, another conquest for Caesar. Quiet young man, but intent, focused. Still growing, but already knew the threat that failure brought.

And those in between…Young men, boys yet, still finding their ways in their own tribes before being forced into the Legion’s violence with no mercy, no softening of the blow. Ulysses had spoken with enough of them, seen the hollowness of their eyes; some with only a flat emptiness in them as they followed orders, trading self for survival, others reveling in their violence for the sake of any feeling…

A motion brought him back to the present with a start. Lucia lowered her hand, sitting back. “I’m sure the floor’s very interesting, but a lookout’s more use looking _out_.”

Ulysses frowned at her before facing away. “We had a few priestesses, a few wives who were in the loop as Lanius marched on Colorado,” Lucia said, stubbing her cigarette out on the dresser. “What did Aelius tell you? That he was a shrewd commander, well-liked, and the only reason they had enough men to hold Denver was his clever tactics and willingness to lead a charge?”

“Near enough,” Ulysses said. “Formidable man, good leader.”

She smiled, humorless. “Funny what news come back from the front lines. Or how it gets twisted around.” Lucia drew out another cigarette. “Venator’s no slouch, give him that—he never would have made centurion if he were truly stupid, or weak. Our informants suggested Caesar would pass him up as Colorado’s Legate in favor of another of the centurions out there, the one who _was_ concerned with keeping his men alive and actually knew what ‘tactics’ meant.” She sat up, looking more keenly out the window a moment, then settled back down. “But no, Caesar headed to the Mojave before the decision was made. Lanius was better pleased with one of the more savage men under him, who burned through Legionaries like kindling and called it Mars’ will. Renamed him Venator, and you know the rest.”

“Hn.” Ulysses stared at the curl of smoke rising off her cigarette, thinking. “Took another man’s distinction for his own…And put a child to being his puppet.”

“He’s desperate for legitimacy,” Lucia said. “Fortunately, one of his officers’ wives had a son, right around the time Caesar died. Striking boy, white-haired, not unlike Sallow himself.”

Ulysses caught a flicker of shadow on the road, and crouched to peer around the edge of the window. “And this other centurion?”

“Calidus knew he had Caesar's favor. He wasn’t giving up leadership so easily, so he took the next best thing, as a Praetorian.” She came up beside him, peering down at the road, and pointed. “Shame his wife and son got wrapped up in it.”

A group of Legionaries stood at the corner of the block, in the shadow of a crumbling home. Ulysses could make out one, head and shoulders above the others and shaved to the scalp. He raised a hand to gesture, the ballistic fist on it seeming to weigh nothing.

Lucia had already retreated downstairs. Ulysses propped his rifle on the sandbags, measuring the distance, eyeing the weeds for windage.

“Men to our south,” Peda said, sticking her head into the room. “At least four, but no way that’s all that’s after us.”

Ulysses didn’t look up from his scope, but the men broke, taking up positions out of sight. “More here,” he said, leaning back. “Keep low and quiet, might pass us by.”

“Rather get caught somewhere we can move, than get bottled up for slaughter here,” Peda said, crouching next to the door.

“Too many of them,” he said. “Streets leave us wandering blind into an ambush. Safer here, unless they search house by house.”

She frowned, her face bruised, a crust of blood still clinging to one nostril. “Yes, whatever you say, _sir_.”

Ulysses had to unclench his teeth. “Understand your distrust, but can’t welcome you making this more difficult—”

“What do you want with Adal?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Peda stared back under her brow, broken jaw forcing a sneer to her lips. “I known her since she was born, and she’s dearer to me than any sister I might’ve had. Yeah, she’s sucked at picking men, but what the hell’s she doing with a Legionary without even the decency to look the part?” she said, with a nod towards the stairs and the Limitanei. “What hook have you got in her? Blackmail? Ransom?”

The rage in him took a moment to settle, words welling up that would have called for war—rightly so, maybe, but to no benefit here, surrounded by unknowns. “Will let this go, since that’s too long a story for here and now,” he said, slow, measured, biting back the anger in it. “You trust the Courier. She trusts in me. Leave it there.”

“’Courier’?” Peda raised an eyebrow. “I’d rather pull this tooth that’s shifted than be talking to you right now, man. You want to leave it here, it’s with everything on the table.”

He met her eyes, dark and serious…and something like worry in them, past the anger. “You care for her.”

“Damn right I do.”

He shifted to look out the window again. The Legionaries were out of sight. “What do you know of the Divide?”

Peda shrugged. “Some kind of survivalist town, but it’s an irradiated hellhole now.”

“That’s all?”

“Just about,” she said. “Took in refugees, but I never made it that far west. Would have cut across most of the Legion’s territory to get to it. Whatever happened there was just a couple years after I…got out.” She looked at him sidelong, expression sour. “I don’t need to tell you that one twice, do I?”

He raised a hand. “Never meant to—”

“But you did.” He couldn’t look at her. She snorted. “Least you have some grace on that. So what about the Divide?”

He stared out the window again, to the empty street. The words were slow to order, deciding between honesty, truth, or whatever would buy cooperation. “Both had a stake in it,” he said at last. “Her, in its founding…and in its death. I was…”

“A refugee?” Peda had her arms folded, watching him.

 _Watching the people there, a nod, a wave from the ones who knew him on sight, ones who trusted too much in the title of courier, betraying their ignorance of the Legion. A rarer few who knew what it might mean, with guarded looks, men who nevertheless welcomed him, said that here, they could start over…_ “Might have been,” he said, voice low. “In time, might have been.”

“Then what do you mean, she had a stake in its death?”

_The Courier, who left bottles and needles in her trail, destruction in her wake, an ignorant fool with a careless hand of destruction…_

_…And Adal, full of love for the place, her and it both broken and trying to mend, even as she carried its death…_

Truth, and honesty, and what line between them?

A noise outside made both of them stand. Across the street, a Legionary kicked open the door to a home, and another stepped up beside, lobbing a burning bottle into it. Ulysses heard the _thump_ as it broke, the fuel inside igniting in a rush.

“Hell with this,” Peda said, heading for the stairs. “We’re moving.”

“Trying to flush us,” Ulysses said, staying at the window. Another pair of Legionaries were on their side of the street, breaking the front window on the house next door. “Waiting for us to run.”

“Oh, I hadn’t _noticed_ ,” she said. “We don’t run, we get burned down. I’ll risk it.”

The building across the street was pouring smoke, the structure dry as tinder from two centuries of desert heat. Paint was already peeling on the outer wall of the next building down, the weeds between them starting to curl and smoke.

And in the growing haze, he could just make out a tall figure stalking along the crossroad, gauntlet on one hand.

“No. What he wants,” he said, and knelt again, settling against the sandbags. “Not yet. Downstairs, be ready to run. Any direction except west, towards the Courier.”

Peda didn’t move a moment, but muttered something dire as she left. He could smell the smoke, a breeze fanning the flames of the neighboring house. The Praetorian, Calidus, stood with his arms folded, barely moving as he stared down the road, watching all and none of the houses, waiting.

Ulysses settled the butt of the rifle on his shoulder. Body shot would do, the man was no small target. He shifted, drawing a bead on the center of his chest.

Calidus looked up, staring back at him through the scope.

He was already moving as Ulysses pulled the trigger, the roar of it enough to set his ears ringing. Ulysses grimaced as he tried to line up another shot, the Praetorian out of sight. Another Legionary was rushing towards the sound, and a round to the chest sent him sprawling. “Run!” he shouted down the stairs as he cut through the hall, to the other bedroom. Smoke was leaking through the far wall, spreading from the house next door. He ignored it, settling against the sandbags under the window.

A Legionary broke across the road, and Ulysses put him down for it. Another was trying to approach in the shadow of an overturned truck, and the shot went wide, but forced him back to cover. Reloading, he caught a glimpse of Peda in the yard below, staying behind the scant concealment of a hedge.

The Legionaries were hesitant to approach, and he caught the flash off a scope as one popped up over the hood of a car. Ulysses returned fire, hearing the bullet rip through the wall beside him. He blinked, eyes starting to run from the smoke leaking into the room, trying to sight on a pair of men rushing their building.

He ducked behind the sandbags to cough, eyes burning. Bullets zipped over him, and he felt the impact though the sandbags as they came through the wall. Coming up to a crouch, he staggered out of the room, hoping to find another window on that side—and recoiled at the blast of heat from the end of the hall, the wall starting collapse as the fire bit through. He’d waited too long—but hopefully long enough for the rest of them.

Choking, he made for the stairs, the smoke thicker and heat worse as he descended. The flame and smoke were disorienting, eyes running as he felt along the wall as a guide. Drawing breath was like breathing glass, and he recoiled as part of the ceiling fell in, another gout of heat putting him on his knees. An impact behind him set his heart racing harder, trying to find his feet. A change in light and waft of cooler air made the flame ripple as he turned.

A figure blocked the light, tearing the rotted wood door from its hinges. They stepped in, flinching from the heat, ballistic fist raised as though it could hold back the blaze.

Ulysses fought to stand, edges of his vision going dark as he struggled to breathe. With the sun behind him, he couldn’t see the Praetorian’s face, tall enough to look down at him. His fingers were numb, distant as he scrabbled for his SMG, slung under his duster.

He could just make out Calidus reaching for him as his vision went black.

***

There was a working hot plate in the diner, and Adal had it running most of the evening, stewing the mole rat meat until it came apart on the tip of her knife. Her men had looked on, curious, but trying not to seem too desperate. “Dinner’s up,” she said, ladling out a couple bowls. “Help yourself, I’ll take some up to…I’ll take some to the roof.”

She balanced the bowls on each other as she went up the ladder, pushing the trapdoor up with her head. Marius was just a dark shape against a purplish evening sky. He hesitated, but took the bowls when she offered them.

“Anything yet?” she asked, settling beside him, behind a sign facing the road.

He only pointed across the freeway, at a mostly intact apartment complex. A few small fires had been lit in the courtyard, and she could just make out a few human figures. “Venator hasn’t routed the ghouls.”

“Not a risk to him, probably,” she said, taking the top bowl. Hidden by the signs, they had a good view of the highway, running roughly north-south. She took a sip of the stew, savoring the taste, focusing on it rather than him.

He raised his to his lips slower, the first taste hesitant. Marius looked at the bowl a moment, then took a deeper sip. Adal said nothing, hoping the silence would stop feeling so heavy.

“Good,” he said at last, hefting the bowl, not looking at her.

“Yeah,” she said, not sure what else to say. “I can take over up here, if you…”

“No, I…” He shook his head. “I can stay here.”

She fished a bit of meat out of the bowl with a finger. She took her time to chew it, the sun slipping further below the horizon. “You wanna talk?”

“What could possibly be said?” There was no anger in his voice. “You are a stranger to me. My only objective is to bring you safely to the Flagstaff Temple, and to my superiors.”

Adal cupped the bowl in her hands, the heat of it staving off a faint evening chill. “You don’t…?”

She could barely make out his shrug. “There is nothing gained in dredging up the past.”

“…No. There isn’t.”

He turned to her, either at the defeat in the words or the brevity of it. Adal hung her head, rather than look at him. Not her son, anymore. Never had been, really. Closer to his father; even if they had never been…taken, he would have gone with him, once they split up, and…

“You have…interesting companions.”

She raised her head. He wasn’t facing her, looking north up the road. “One way to put it,” she said. “It’s been a ride to get this far.”

Halfway down the bowl, before he said, “I spoke with Lucia.”

“What about?”

“Confirming some things,” he said. “About…what’s happening in the Mojave. Before then.”

 _Before_. “Anything interesting?”

“It really was single combat with Lanius, at the end?”

“Really was,” she said. “Got the scars to prove it.”

A movement from him—a flinch? A nod? Impossible to tell in the dark. “And Oliver?”

“God, no. Wouldn’t’ve proved anything, and his Rangers never woulda let me,” she said. “Tried to get him to walk away, but I…wasn’t feeling real clever, the shape I was in. Probably would have made for better relations to the west, but I wasn’t lookin’ at many options right then.”

The silence stretched. Adal watched the ghouls milling around their camp as she finished her supper. She could pick out a Glowing One trying to wander across the freeway, hunched and feral, and being gently shooed back towards the center of the courtyard. “You should go inside,” she said. “You’ve been up here since afternoon.”

“It’s no hardship,” he said.

“There’s more stew.”

Marius wavered slightly, and she snorted. He glanced her way, and in the rising moonlight, she caught the sheepish look on his face. The words were almost out, _I’m glad, you used to be such a picky eater,_ but she closed her mouth on them. “Lucia say anything else?” she said instead.

“A little worried you still hold the cigarettes against her,” he said, faint amusement in it.

“Won’t take another gift from her, for sure,” she said. The word was all it took, and she drew a smoke out of her pocket, scavenged from the diner’s office. “You trust her?”

“Ulysses asked the same thing,” he said. “In short, she has no reason to betray us. That I know of.”

Ulysses… “You know him, then?”

Another shrug. “He trained several other Frumentarii. I was one of them. Shadowed him as he approached tribes in New Mexico.” He took a breath like he might go on, but let out a sigh instead, turning back to his supper.

Frumentarii. She thought back to the Mojave, Nipton, of smoke and blood and a smiling man amid the carnage… “I only ever dealt with a couple of the Legion’s spies,” she said at last.

“There were never many of us, compared to the rest of our army,” he said, subdued. “And if our jobs were done well, most of our targets never knew we existed until it was too late.”

 _How many men have you put on crosses, Alam?_

“I…heard. About Nipton,” he said, and she tensed. “Vulpes was…Most of us just had orders to follow. He was one of the ones who reveled in it all. He deserved a worse death than fair combat.”

Adal said nothing, unable to start a sentence.

“With him dead, we were in enough disarray that I could disappear. When _you_ killed him,” Marius said. “Lucia had already contacted me, asked me to return her reports to Flagstaff. I never would have…gotten out, otherwise.”

_Did you know then? My name? Who the Courier was?_

_Why didn’t you try to find me?_

“It was hardly a fair fight,” she managed, breaking the silence. “Bastard didn’t stand a chance.”

He looked at her fully, something like a wry smile on his face, ready to speak. It was like seeing a light snap off, the expression gone as he looked her in the eye, then away. “I’m sure.”

She took another drag, bit her tongue. “So…” she started, but he didn’t look over. “What happens when we get into Flagstaff? Can I trust the priestesses? Lucia?”

“Yes,” he said. “Our orders are to bring you to Flagstaff safely, which hardly puts us at odds.”

Adal rubbed at her neck. “Still room for a knife in that,” she said. “Maybe not from you, but…”

He faced her, hesitant, not meeting her eyes. “They have little to gain from your death,” he said. “The priestesses are smarter than to kill a potential ally, in wartime. If nothing else, you’re more valuable alive.”

“To Venator, too,” she said. “The centurion at Circle Junction said the same thing.” He looked away. “Why is that?”

“I do not know,” he said. “But I trust the Temple, and they have asked for you.”

“Bit of a turnaround, since last time we talked,” she said, and held her breath, cursing silently.

He just shook his head. “Lucia had…newer orders for me,” he said, but there was a hollowness in the words. The crescent moon didn’t cast much light, but she studied his profile, watching to the road again. _Tell me about the Temple, how long were you there? Were you safe? Who looked after you? Where have you_ been, _for eighteen years…_

She gestured with her bowl, towards the trapdoor. “I’m gonna…”

“I…”

Adal settled again, watching him. Marius seemed to hunt for words a moment, before shaking his head, looking away. She stared at nothing, arms resting on her knees, ash building up on the end of her cigarette. A howl went up in the ghoul camp, and she heard raspy voices laughing along.

“I thought you might save us, somehow.” Alam’s voice was from a lifetime away, a child’s, scared, alone.

The words caught, and she had to clear her throat. “I tried. I almost died doing it.” _You were the only one out of three bands to get out, and you didn’t even try and help us?_ The words still stung, enough that Adal had to close her eyes and try to bear up under them. “I tried.”

Just not hard enough.

Neither of them moved. The fires in the camp across the freeway were fading, the stars and moon the only light left. She looked down at her hands, felt the callus and scars on them; so much pain and bloodshed since that day. Before she could stop herself, she heard herself say, “I talked with Peda. Your brother—”

“No.”

He looked like he might say something more, almost facing her, but he gritted his teeth and stood without a word. Adal didn’t turn as she heard the trapdoor click shut, the sound of him fading on the ladder.

She put her head in her hands, counting breaths. Too much. Too much at once, in the middle of everything else. Too many people who she trusted had their backs to her, and her baring her throat to those she couldn’t. And Ches was…

 _Had_. Had lived, which meant nothing with eighteen years of Legion between them. He may as well have been dead.

Adal ground her fingers against her eyes, chest aching as she held in tears.

The moon had shifted by the time she looked up, hollow and heavy. Hooves scraped on the pavement, and she stretched up to look over the sign on the rooftop. Three brahmin carts, heavily-laden, were headed down the road, a handful of traders walking beside. And ringing them, rather than whatever mercs could be paid off to keep from stealing, was a contuberinum of Legionaries.

Adal opened the trapdoor slowly, not letting the hinges creak. As she put a foot on the ladder, the traders stopped their animals, one of them arguing with the Legion decanus. The trader shook his head, and another reached for the roll of a tent, on one of the brahmin’s backs. The Legionary nearest him struck him hard enough to send him reeling, and the decanus drew his machete, gesturing for the group to continue.

The storeroom was empty when she climbed down the ladder. She passed through the kitchen, sticking her head into the dining area. The two lower-ranking Limitanei that had accompanied her jumped, Marcus taking his feet off the opposite seat of the booth they were in, the other laying an arm on the table to hide what looked like a Caravan spread. “May we assist you, Domina?”

“Seneca’s asleep, then?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. The other one nodded, still holding a hand of cards out of sight. “Get him for me. We got a live one out there.”


	12. Chapter 12

Adal sized up the caravan over a piece of rubble. Eight Legionaries, and any of the traders willing to fight, against their five. Not the best odds, but Adal was never much for gambling.

A shot from the far side of the freeway put the Legionaries on alert. Adal brought her head down, waiting for the rest of the shooting to start. The Limitanei Seneca had assigned to her shifted his weight, and she caught him watching her, from the corner of her eye. “Nice sledge,” she said, anything to fill the silence.

He hesitated, then, “Thank you, Domina?”

“How do you find the compression coils hold up on that model?” she said, peeking over the rubble again. “I had one like it I had to tune every damn day.”

He—what was his name, fuck, she should know it by now—looked from it to her, but didn’t have a chance to open his mouth before the howl of a ghoul came across the freeway.

The Legionaries had their backs to them, facing the sound, one already drawing a bead on the Glowing One. She let him take the shot, the ghoul barely registering the wound, before opening fire.

The traders were smart enough to take cover, a couple of them taking hold of their brahmins’ harnesses to keep them from bolting. Torn between the ghouls on one side and the Limitanei on the other, the Legionaries couldn’t organize, and both groups were quick to fall. Adal kept her gun in hand as she approached the caravan, some of the traders daring to stand. “Howdy, folks!” she said brightly. “This is a stickup. Don’t draw on us, and we won’t shoot you.”

“Take what you want from us and go,” one of them said, a woman around Adal’s age, with her hands raised. “We didn’t even want to come to this godforsaken city, just let us leave peacefully.”

Adal sighed. “Well, I’d love to, ma’am,” he said, slinging her rifle. “But I’m afraid you’re caught up in a bit of international politics as of right now.”

Around them, the Limitanei were dragging the Legion corpses off the road, starting to strip their armor. The woman lowered her hands. “I’m _sorry_?”

“Thing is, we’re trying to get _into_ that godforsaken city, miss…?”

“ _Mrs._ Carla Correa, head of Correa Caravans.”

“Good to meet you, Mrs. Correa,” she said, shaking her unresisting hand. “Adal Walker, head of the Mojave Free State. You mighta heard of me.”

Her eyebrows went up. The caravaners nearest them turned to each other, muttering. “I doubt there’s anyone who hasn’t ma’am,” Correa said. “What can we do for you?”

Adal glanced over at the Limitanei. They had paused, handing something around, their own clothes and armor exchanged for Legion gear. “Well,” she said, facing front again. “You probably heard about caravans gettin jumped by the city’s people by now…”

She left Correa talking with her own people, meeting Seneca as he approached. “What’s up?” Without a word, he handed her a pair of small items—and nearly dropped them. “What the _fuck_. That’s…” She held the Jet inhaler in one hand, and the Psycho syringe in the other at arm’s length, as though it might jump up and bite her.

“They were all carrying some sort of chem,” Seneca said. “I feel this is more than a minor breakdown in discipline.”

“Why is that?” She passed them back, wiping her hands on her duster. 

He frowned down at the chems, weighing them in a hand. “These were recruits, men likely born into the Legion. They would have no reason to even consider such…” He shook his head. “ _Indiscretions_ , without some kind of order. Especially an entire contuberinum. These are not men inclined to think for themselves.”

Adal wiped her hands again. The thought of a Legionary on Psycho… “Get rid of them. I don’t care how. Are your men ready?”

“Yes, Domina.”

She turned back to the caravan, some of the traders looking at them uneasily. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

***

Adal almost dozed off, tucked under the tarp on one of the carts, but the jolting as it rolled over the cracks in the pavement rattled through her bones. Muttering to herself, she dug in the trader’s wares beside her, coming up with a blanket to shove under her numb backside.

The cart slowed, and she wriggled to sit lower, head not touching the canvas. The stack of boxes on three sides was constricting, and she drew her pistol, pointing it at the edge of the cart, where the tarp met the wood.

“…sign of the city’s men?”

Adal leaned back, peering through a gap in the crates. She could make out part of Seneca’s back, and a sliver of another Legionary, tall enough she couldn’t see his face, a ballistic gauntlet on one hand.

“A small group, a couple hours north,” Seneca sad. “They posed no problem.”

“And the Courier?”

“No sign,” Seneca said, carefully neutral. “Was there word of her here?”

The Praetorian shifted his weight, and Adal held her breath. “Suppose you wouldn’t have heard, coming from the north,” he said. “She’s been spotted in the region, most likely headed to the city. Venator wants her alive, if possible.”

“Yes, sir. She won’t get past us.”

“See to it.” The Praetorian turned away, and she heard more footsteps follow him. The cart creaked, the brahmin snorting as they were driven forward.

Adal relaxed, lowering her gun. After a moment, she heard someone approach the side of the cart. “That was Calidus,” Marius said, sounding faintly rattled. “No sign of the others with him.”

“He suspect anything?” she said.

“Not that I could tell,” he said. “But it is no guarantee. I would not put it past him to be playing some longer game.”

She sighed, trying to find a position that didn’t dig a corner into her back. “Keep your eyes open, then. We’re too close to get caught now.”

She did doze off as they continued on, fatigue finally catching her up. Shouts brought her awake with a start, scrambling for her pistol. The tarp was thrown aside, and Lucia gave the weapon a nonplussed look, trained on her head. “Nice to see you too.”

“Startled me,” Adal grumbled, holstering it as she stood. The Limitanei had their hands up, weapons slung, as another group surrounded them. Former Legion, again holding on to the old armor and tunics. It was hard to tell in the dark, but their gear looked to have been dyed and painted over black, some with trim of yellow or gold. “Where’s everyone else? Peda? Ulysses?”

“Waiting,” Lucia said, stepping back as Adal hopped down from the cart. “We had a brush with Calidus and his men, picked up a few injuries. Not worth them risking the trip up here.”

Adal paused, resettling her duster. “What? Who’s hurt?”

Someone cleared their throat. Lucia glanced aside, and Adal reluctantly looked over. The caravaner, Correa, held out a slip of paper. “As per our agreement, ma’am.”

“Oh, right,” Adal said. The number at the bottom of the slip made her cringe. “Once the dust settled on this, I’ll see every cap to you myself.”

“Coin, if you’d be so kind,” Correa said, but offered a hand. “Give ‘em hell, ma’am. It’s a right delight, knowing the Legion’s gonna get their asses handed to them _twice_ by a lady like you.”

Adal forced a smile, gripping back. “Once things calm down, maybe pay Vegas a visit. Always looking for a bit of fresh trade.”

They nodded to each other, Correa stepping away to observe the city’s men swarming over the carts. Adal let her smile drop as she turned to Lucia. “Take me to them.”

She led her off the road, towards a broken-down shopping center. The men from the road were passing along the caravan’s wares, taking them into what looked like a storeroom off the back. Lucia directed her to a flight of stairs, leading her down.

“The boys get to use the freight elevator,” Lucia said, after the first landing. “Amazing how they complain, the second they don’t have slaves to do the heavy lifting.”

Adal raised her eyebrows, a few steps behind. “What do I even call these guys?”

“’Order of Mars’ seems to be winning out,” Lucia said, leaning on the door of the final landing. “’Cult’ was such a strong word.”

The subbasement was chilly, even compared to the night air aboveground. A long hall lay before them, dark but for a couple lanterns hanging from defunct light fixtures. At the end of it, the glow from a room beyond backlit a pile of sandbags. Lucia raised a hand, and Adal could make out rifles pointed to the ceiling.

They had set up in the corner of a warehouse, massive steel racks converted into sleeping areas, the lower ones filled with crates, bags, stacks of goods taken from the other caravans. The city’s fighters—Men of Mars? Men of the Order?—looked up as they entered, a pair sitting at a table, another couple sorting though the goods. One stood beside a shuttered door, and as Lucia had promised, it rumbled and opened on a large elevator, more men stepping up to offload the crates inside.

“Adal.”

She barely had time to process Peda stepping close, throwing an arm around her, heavy bandages on the other. She leaned in, murmuring in Adal’s ear, “I am ready to kill one of them.”

Adal looked over her shoulder. The three other Limitanei were sitting in a section of the racking, looking uncertain. She pulled away, searching the others. “Hang on. Where’s—?”

Peda pointed to one of the sections of rack, a blanket tacked up to separate it from the rest. She heard someone shifting as she approached, and Ulysses sat up as she pulled the blanket aside. “Courier,” he said, voice gravelly, and turned to cough. Peda caught the blanket as Adal knelt next to him.

“That Praetorian tried to smoke us out,” she said. “Your man hung back to cover us, but didn’t meet up after. _I_ went back with Lucia—” she said, raising her voice and looking to the Limitanei

“Lost cause!” one of them said. Through the supports, she could make out the three of them, Fulvius leaning slightly away from the older two. Vitis sat with his mouth set, and the one beside him went on, “He knew he might die, letting us—”

“I’m sick of your fucking mouth, you piece of—”

“—drag you out after him—”

“Like hell, you were gonna leave me to die!”

“Stop!”

They all looked to Adal, with various shades of anger and discomfort. “Fucking walk away,” she said a hand raised. “All of you. That’s an order.”

The men looked at one another, but Fulvius was the first to stand. The door to the hall clunked, and he made his way over, Seneca stepping in.

Peda made a disgusted sound and moved to drop the curtain. “You can stay,” Adal said.

“Thought that was an order, _boss_ ,” she said, but came to hunker next to her.

“Just to shut them up.” She looked over at Ulysses, watching her, still rasping as he breathed. “Are you okay?” He seemed to consider speaking, but just nodded. Adal slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed it back.

“Found him just outside our building, stimpak jammed in his chest,” Peda said. “Says it was one of the Legionaries.”

“Praetorian,” he grunted, and swallowed hard. “Dragged me out.”

Adal stared at him a moment, then looked at Peda, who shrugged. “I was the first one there. No sign of anyone but him, near enough he coulda crawled to cover.” She lifted her arm, bandaged from shoulder to elbow. “Different patrol came through, checking out the fires. Guess who’s using laser rifles these days?”

“Found chems, on the caravan escorts,” Adal said, rubbing her face. “Funny, us seeing that the _closer_ we get to Venator..."

"New Legion," Ulysses said. "No saying what..." He trailed off coughing, and Adal offered him a drink from her canteen. 

“City sent people to check on the fire, too. Most of the neighborhood must be gone by now,” Peda said. “That slip of a girl made herself useful, got us brought here.”

All three of them looked up as the curtain was pulled aside, Marius looking in. “What happened? Are you badly hurt?”

Peda filled him in, Adal sitting a little more comfortably, still holding Ulysses’ hand. “He stopped our caravan, coming in,” she said, voice low. “The Praetorian. Let us through anyway.”

“Hn. No reason to question,” he said, and stopped for another sip of water. “Ask Lucia. Might doubt Venator.”

“More than ‘might’,” Marius said, sitting back. He waved a hand at Ulysses, as he drew another breath. “No, rest. The next leg will be difficult enough.”

“When can we get into the city?” Adal said. “Shouldn’t hang around longer than we need.”

“No choice but to wait,” Marius said. “They have reinforcements leaving the city, currently. The tunnels are made to keep people out—over a mile, trapped and mined. There’s no way to pass another group.”

Adal rubbed her forehead, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Whatever. If we got no say in it, we got no say in it.”

Ulysses squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. Marius caught the gesture, glancing away. “I’ll make sure the Limitanei know,” he said, brushing the partition aside.

Peda cleared her throat. “Well, if we’re waiting, I’m sleeping,” she said, following him out.

Adal sighed a little. “I miss something?”

He gripped her hand again. “Doesn’t approve.”

“I know Peda doesn’t…”

“Marius.” He made a wry face. “Had a…child’s infatuation. Never acknowledged it, figured it faded.”

“Oh my god,” she muttered, putting a hand to her face. “So he’s, uh…”

“Your son,” he said, leaning his head back, eyes closed.

“Meaning _what_?” she hissed. He fought back another bout of coughing, finally letting her lay him back, sipping on water. Adal frowned at him, listening to him breathe, but her fretting wouldn't make him heal faster.

There was a chair in the same section of racking, one of the plush types with a footrest. She didn’t bother with it, climbing up and drawing her legs up under herself. Settling with her rifle in her arms, she found a position that hopefully wouldn’t put a crick in her neck and closed her eyes, trying to relax.

“…was a healer, with our tribe.” Adal blinked, tried to shut out Peda’s voice, settling deeper into her chair. “I’ve been keeping an eye out, whenever I’d swing near a camp, but…”

“You’d be noticed,” Lucia said. “It’s possible. We’ve taken in many women for further training, over the years. Aquilina has turned our infirmary into the Boneyard’s equal, and her women have saved more Legionary lives than they ever wanted to.”

Peda snorted, as Adal faded again. “Fen was a quick study. Maybe…”

“…Octavia made him the first Legionary to ever retire.” Jeth? No, Alam—Marius. His voice was low, trying not to disturb her. She kept her eyes shut, pretending to sleep.

“Hardly a Legionary,” Ulysses murmured, voice still rough. “Consul was better with pen than machete, and that’s with his wife as a scribe.”

“He was a wreck, after they set him up to kill Septima’s favored.” Marius sounded amused. “They’re saying he’s living a quiet, if baffled life in a nicer part of town. Breeds dogs in his spare time.”

She drifted, woke to hissing voices behind her. “No more,” Vitis was saying. “I won’t put up with this.”

Beside him, another said, “Idiot, you can’t…”

“Quintus, shut up,” Seneca grumbled. “You’re both staying where I can see you on this next stretch.”

Footsteps made Adal open her eyes. Marius stopped short as she looked at him, gesturing into the room. “The reinforcements are nearly through. We will be underway shortly.”

Ulysses had woken with her, and she helped him stand. He waved her off once he was upright, but Adal stayed in step with him as Marius led them towards the wall. Seneca joined them, the Limitanei behind. More men had gathered on the far side of the warehouse, and a few watched them warily.

“They’ll take us through in several groups,” Marius said, taking a lantern from a stand. “You’re the priority. Better you go with a pair of our guides only—”

He looked over his shoulder as they both started talking, and the guards by the wall tensed. “I want him at least,” she said, jerking a thumb at Ulysses. “And you,” she said, a little resigned, as Seneca lifted his head.

Marius watched her a moment, face covered, but goggles up. Finally, he nodded. “Stay in the center of the group. The front and back of the line are most hazardous; we will have a man going ahead to disarm the majority of the traps, and another behind to rearm them.”

Under a section of the racking, the wall had been knocked away, tunneling through concrete and dirt into a yawningly dark pit. Voices filtered up through them, and they stood aside as another group of men in black and gold stepped up. Adal counted at least three squads, heavily armed. They glanced back at her, a few inclining their heads, most giving her incurious looks.

As the crowd thinned, and Marius stepped toward the opening. Seneca was already giving Ulysses a hand down. “That's the last of them. The old storm sewers aren’t large, be prepared. Watch your feet, the man at the front of the line will point out hazards.” He held out a lantern. “I’ll go through with the next group.”

Peda had followed them as they gathered. Adal gave her a nod, and she raised a hand, face sober. She looked to Marius again, imagined a faint line of worry between his brows. She took the lantern from him. “See you on the other side.”

He stepped aside. The dirt tunnel gave way to concrete, breathing cold and moisture. Adal tapped Ulysses on the back, ahead of her, and passed him her lantern so she could click the light of her Pip-boy on. There was a murmur ahead, and she saw Seneca point, say something to Ulysses, who in turn gestured to her and said, “Pressure plate,” as he stepped around it. Looking back, she did the same, glad to see it was Quintus behind her, instead of Vitis.

The route was complex, and in the dark, Adal lost count of the switchbacks and turns, segments carved out of living earth to connect the sewers. They passed through a handful of larger chambers, but the route was mostly through cramped passages that made her duck her head, easier to fill with hazards like tripwires and mines.

She could feel the strain starting to wear on her, heart pounding as she shuffled past a hand-dug pit, spears stuck upright in its floor. Sunlight was starting to filter through the grates that led to the streets. From ahead, she heard a call. “This is the last leg. A few more minutes.”

Adal felt the tension in the group fade. She kept watching Ulysses’ feet, stepping where he did in the uncertain light. The sewer narrowed again, and she had to bend nearly in half, shoulders brushing the walls.

Behind her, there was as soft _ping_ that set her nerves screaming.

“I’ll do what entire armies couldn’t. For my brothers!”

A hand closed on her duster as she tried to turn, wedged in the tunnel. “Grenade!” she shouted, as the Limitanei behind her bore her down, trying to trap it between them. He was jerked back by Vitis at the end of the line, and she fell as they grappled, Quintus thrown to the ground, still struggling to rise as Vitis piled on top of him. He looked up, meeting her eyes for a split second as she curled up on herself, covered her head, and—

She must be screaming, for her throat to hurt so much, but there’s only a single ringing note playing in her aching ears, and her leg—god, her leg, it hurt so much it wasn’t pain anymore, the limb turned to something molten and white-hot—

Someone grabbed at her, and she tried to push them away; it was too dark, too bright with the afterimage of the blast, and she screamed again as they moved her, dragged her along the ground until her nails no longer met concrete walls. Hands on her, voices flat and distant, and she tried to break free as she was lifted up, but every movement brought pain, pain—

***

“No.” Adal was limp in his arms, and Ulysses held her close, trying to feel if she was breathing. “No, no.” He could feel blood running from her legs, running down his arm and soaking through his clothes as he ran. “Please, no…” Her face was pale, head lolling as he tried to get a closer grip, hoping for a sign, anything, that—

“Stop there.”

He looked up, slowing. A chamber had been carved out of dirt and rock, and a wall of Legionaries—the Order of Mars—stood between him and the exit.

“We need a healer!” Seneca stepped forward, and guns and machetes were leveled. “She’s badly wounded, one of the traps must have gone off—”

Figures in white pushed the guard aside, calling for a stretcher. One of them gestured for him to lay her down, not lifting her veil as she leaned to listen to Adal’s breathing, felt her neck for a pulse. “Still alive,” the priestess said, as the other slid a litter under her. “Atella, get a tourniquet on that leg, or she might not be much longer. Guards, the infirmary, quickly…”

Ulysses tried to follow as she was swept away, but machetes blocked his path. “She’s dying. I need to—”

“You are not allowed in the Temple, stranger.” Their decanus didn’t lower his blade. “That was the Courier?”

A hall and steps lead upward, and the priestesses rushed her up them, artificial light shining down. “She’s hurt!” He fought back a cough, the volume of it painful. The machete stayed leveled at his throat as he tried to step around him, and he bared his teeth. “Let me—”

“She’s in the priestesses’ hands, now. If there’s any chance of her surviving, they’ll make it so,” the decanus said, and gestured to the far wall. “For now, you will be housed with our Guard, until the High Priestess says otherwise.”

He stared after her, unmoving. Beside him, he heard Seneca sigh, and say, “Yes. Lead on.”

Ulysses followed him, making himself stop and take in their surroundings. The hollowed-out chamber connected several smaller rooms, pillars left between them to bear the weight of the earth. The ladder out was original, rusted where it was set into the wall, but held as their guide led them out. It led through a grate to the surface, the light from it almost blinding after being underground so long. He shaded his eyes as he stood, made out another guard who watched them as they were led on.

Years, since he had been here. The Temple grounds were quiet, calm, utterly untouched by the war outside their gates. Grass still grew between the buildings, a sprawling complex with structures in many ages and styles—from plain red brick in single stories and long halls, to monoliths of steel and glass, partially collapsed from time and neglect; a record of the building habits of generations. A place of learning, once, before Caesar perverted it, made it a Temple to himself, of subjugating his people, of bending the children of the Legion to his will.

He had to shake himself, to focus as they were led into a building, low brick apartments. A few unarmored men in the common area watched them pass, and their guide waved them into a room near the entrance of the hall. “You are to remain here. You are not allowed to wander our grounds unescorted.”

“And news of the Courier?” Ulysses said.

“When we have it, we will bring it to you,” he said, blocking the door. “The rest of your men will be sent here, once they make it through the tunnels. If they do,” he added, closing the door behind him.

Ulysses stared after him. The blood drying on his arms itched, his clothes tacky with it—the Courier’s blood, Adal’s, and the feeling was suddenly intolerable. He turned, sweeping the room for threats—Seneca, already sitting on a ragged couch, a pair of doors to one side, two more on the other wall, a water-stained kitchen by the entrance.

“You don’t intend to escape?” Seneca said, watching him check the doors. Two bedrooms on the one side, a pair of bunk beds in each.

“When did you expect your man to turn on her?” Another bedroom on the far side, and a bathroom. He threw his duster on the ground and turned the tap. The pipes banged a moment before spitting rust, and he let it run clear before scrubbing at his arms.

He could hear Seneca’s hand rasp across stubble as he rubbed his face. “I did not. Not until that moment,” he said, voice low. “Is that what happened then? Vitis?”

“The other. Pulled a grenade.” His call for vengeance, the sound of a scuffle. Only thinking to shield himself, and the only obstacle between him and the blast was Adal—

The sink was red, drops spattering from his hands as they shook. He had to grip the edges of it to stay upright, breath rattling in his raw throat.

“Are you well?” Seneca was peering around the door frame at him.

 _No._ “Fine,” he said, straightening to finish rinsing off.

“You are bleeding, as well,” he said, leaning back. “Blast caught your shoulder.”

Ulysses nodded, not caring if he saw. It didn’t hurt until he looked at it, a fine peppering of shrapnel in his upper arm, a few deeper cuts. He shut off the water and dried his hands, reaching for a stimpak.

A stimpak. Right there, in easy reach in the pouch on his belt, and he hadn’t even thought of it, deafened by the blast and her scream, still ringing in his ears…

Ulysses had to lean back on the wall, head in hands.

And if she died? Because of him?

“She will pull through.” He didn’t look up, but heard Seneca stand, leaning on the door frame. His voice was almost gentle as he went on, “The Courier has not come so far to be brought down by one fool fighting outside his weight. I have seen the healers here nearly perform miracles, myself. She will pull through.”

***

A feeling like floating, many faces clustered over her, hands touching, probing, and a knife stabs through her knee, makes Adal buck and thrash, trying to drag herself off the bed.

"The _hell_ are you _doing_ to her?" Peda's voice, and Adal tries to call out, reach for her—

“Hold her down!” someone yells, faint and tinny, and there’s weight on her, bodies, and all she can do is claw and bite and catch a glimpse of a needle in one of their hands—

***

“He had a wife,” Seneca said, sitting back. “Better match than most. She’ll miss him.”

Ulysses stayed slouched, arms folded on his legs. A priestess had brought a platter of food around midday, and he forced himself to take another bite. It should have been good, roast gecko with vegetables and bread, but it was ash in his mouth, lead in his gut. “Which?”

“Vitis,” he said, and shook his head. “Shame to lose him, too. Hotheaded, but very competent. Very competent.”

“Died serving his cause,” Ulysses said, hollow platitude. The plain black tunic they had given him sat poorly, and he smoothed at it, too narrow in the shoulders and thin, without a duster over it. “Worse deaths.”

“Didn’t respect the Courier, but understood our cause enough to follow her.” Seneca sighed through his nose. "Quintus...I should have seen. Old fool, this is my—"

A knock on the door put them both on their feet. His heart sank, hoping to see a priestess, a Guard or one of the Order—but the Limitanei filed in, the three surviving looking tired and strained. They scanned the room—old habits—and the tallest of them, carrying a super sledge, asked, “Quintus? Vitis?”

“They said the Courier had…” The youngest, Fulvius, looked to him, openly worried.

Seneca sighed and sat, gestured at the food. “Had Quintus spoken to any of you about the Courier?”

They were crestfallen, bitter as Ulysses turned for one of the bedrooms. “He’d been unhappy since we lost Drusus,” their sniper, Marcus said, staring listlessly at the table.

Seneca sighed, rubbing at his face. “I know. But I hadn’t realized…”

Ulysses shut the bedroom door behind himself. Leave them to their grief. Loss of a brother—in such a stupid, pointless way—was no easy thing, even to men used to death.

 _Heat-light-sound-darkness, and pain._ It hit him again, hard enough he couldn’t find the bed, just put his back to the wall and slid down. Divide, the burning house, the flash in the tunnel—didn’t matter, the overwhelming fear and pressure bearing down through time, _machines shifting rubble above him, too insensate to track—_ and a face mixed in now, _a tall figure with a gauntleted hand, reaching down—_

Reaching for Adal, her mouth curled in a scream but no more air in her, already pale, dying—

He looked down at his hands. There was still blood crusted around a nail.

Ulysses put his head in them, and had to remind himself to breathe.

***

She wakes in a cold sweat, somewhere strange. Adal blinks at the room, feeling thick and stupid as she tries to stand, her right leg a dead weight.

“Don’t get up! No, lay back, you’re safe—”

Rows of cots in the room, and someone in white and red is hurrying over, a child staring fearfully after. Adal knocks into a stand of some kind with her arm, and she looks up. Bottles hang from it, and a tube, and she follows it into her arm, to the needle…

“No. No, I don’t—” her tongue is dry and numb, and she pulls at the bandage, the stranger trying to stop her hands.

“You need that! Stop, please—Somebody help me!”

Adal keeps mumbling and tearing at it, _no, no_ , too clumsy to get a grip. She looks up at the person—the woman—hesitates at the blank where her face should be.

She uses the pause to push her down, but Adal lunges as another appears, sticks another needle into the tubing. “I don’t—I don’t want…”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Adal,” and the first one holds her hands until she starts to weaken, strokes her hair as her head falls back, trying to keep her eyes open. “You’ll be fine. We’re taking care of you. Just sleep…”

Adal tries to open her eyes, to ask why she sounds so familiar, but darkness claims her.


	13. Chapter 13

The light was low and gold, and she stared at the ceiling, trying to remember. Where was—?

Tunnels, a grenade, a low throb in her leg. The look in a man’s eyes, knowing he was going to die, for her…

Adal pressed her hands to her face. She breathed a long moment, a shudder going through her. How close, how very close—

A noise beside her made her start. Someone leaned back as she looked over, went, “Oh,” in a small voice. “Ave.”

“Hi,” Adal said, feeling like she’d been gargling sand. She swallowed, tried to clear her throat. “Where am I?”

“N’the ‘firmary,” the girl said, sitting on the next cot over. Her feet didn’t touch the ground, and she swung them a little. A towheaded child, stark against olive skin, loosely curled and falling to her shoulders. She stared brightly at her, picking at her lip with one hand, utterly fearless.

“Infirmary…” The Temple, Flagstaff. There was still a bandage on her arm, and a tube, leading up to the bottles, hanging neck-down from a stand. One had smaller vials taped to the outside—Hydra. The other was clear, and still dripping into the tube. She plucked at her shirt, a loose, threadbare thing that had gone gray with washing.

She lay back and rubbed at her head, still feeling sluggish, flashes coming back to her. “Were you here before?”

“Mm-hmm.” The girl held out her hand. There was a purplish smear on the bandage. “Priestess Atella said to keep it clean, n’I got jam on it at breakfast.”

“Tch. Caught red-handed,” she said, adjusting her pillow for a clearer look.

“She’ll be mad,” the girl said, picking her lip again.

She almost smiled as she asked, “What’s your name, dearling?”

“Passercula. It’s for a sparrow, n’Mistress Rosa calls me Paz,” she said.

“What a pretty name,” she said. “I’m Adal.”

“Ave, Mistress Adal,” she said, ducking her head a little.

She couldn’t help but smile, despite everything. Glancing over, her cot was furthest from the door, in reach of a heavy old desk. “There’s a bit of gauze and a bag of powder over there. If you grab it for me, I can change your bandage, and Atella won’t even know you were here.”

Paz looked over, back. “Is it okay?”

“Sure,” she said, grabbing the pillow from the next cot. “If anybody asks, it was my idea.”

The girl grinned and ran after it. Adal sat up enough to prop herself up with the pillow, pausing as her head spun. She looked slowly down, and let out a breath. Two legs still, under her blanket.

Paz hopped up onto the edge of Adal’s cot, handing her the gauze and pouch of powder. “You promise you won’t tell? Cross your heart?”

“Cross my heart,” Adal said, undoing the bandage. “What did you do to your hand?”

“Nothin’ bad,” she said, pulling away.

Adal held a finger to her lips. “I ain’t the kind to tattle, dearling. Promise not to tell.”

Slowly, she held her hand out again. “Helva’s geckos.”

“What about Helva’s geckos?” Adal said, winding the old gauze around itself.

“I went to pet one of the babies’n she told me not to,” she mumbled. “It bit me.”

“Ah,” she said, looking at the scrapes on the palm and back. “The little ones don’t know better, huh?”

“Mm-hmm. The mama gecko likes ear rubs,” she said.

She kept fidgeting, flinching away as Adal tried to put on the fresh bandage. “How old are you, Paz? What do they teach you here?”

“I’m six years old, n’I know how to make healing powder, know all my letters, and can count to twenty,” she said, sitting up straighter.

“Twenty! Imagine,” Adal said, getting a grip on her thumb. “It’s been a while since I had to count that high, maybe you should refresh my memory.”

She counted aloud as Adal dusted fresh healing powder over the scrapes, started rewrapping the bandage. She had to work around her as she did, counting on her fingers until she started over. “Ten, um, eleven…Two-teen…”

Adal swallowed a laugh, and Paz looked up at her, shy. “Twelve,” Adal whispered, conspiratorially.

“Twelve,” she said, flushing. “Thirteen…”

She got to twenty as Adal finished, and she swept back a lock of the girl’s hair. “Twelve’s the tricky one. You were close though, dearling.”

“Mistress Rosa says it’s tricky, too,” Paz said, plucking at her lip again.

“I bet you’re an expert around here,” Adal said, and the girl nodded eagerly. “Were you born here?”

“Nuh-uh. I got brought by a priestess too little to remember’n I’m in Mistress Rosa’s class now that I’m old,” she said. “But I know _everything_ about the Temple.”

She fought down another grin, felt it fade as another question welled up. “You don’t know who your parents are? Your mother and father?”

Paz stared up at her like the words were from another language, and shrugged.

“Okay.” She tried to force the smile back. “If you know everything about the Temple…Do you know where the other people went, that I came here with? Are they okay?”

She fidgeted with the bandage, shrugging again. “Sometimes people stay and live with the Guard.”

“Are there new people there now?”

“Priestess Pia took extra dinner there last night.”

“There, must be someone,” Adal said, nodding. “Did she say anything about them?”

Paz nodded, opening her mouth. The door to the infirmary opened, and she slipped off the edge of the cot and held up her hand. “Still clean!”

Adal rolled her head to look. A woman stood between the rows of cots, watching them. Her robe was stunningly white, falling to the floor, and a red shawl was draped across her shoulder and hip. A veil hung over her face, fabric so fine is shimmered slightly as she breathed. “You’re not bothering my patient, are you, Paz?”

“No, Priestess Atella,” she said looking to Adal. “I was—I was just—”

“We were talking about her studies,” Adal said, giving her a big wink on the side away from Atella. Paz giggled. “Did you know this girlie can count to twenty? She had a little trouble with two-teen—”

“Twelve!” Paz said, still squeaking with laughter.

Adal shook her head. “Look at this, she’s smarter than I am. She’s gonna be running this place soon.”

Paz yelled and pulled up the collar of her smock, hiding her face. Adal grinned and tousled the blonde mop poking out of it. “You go on, sparrow, keep out of trouble.”

She trotted out of the room, barely stopping to bow to the priestess as she passed. She shook her head as she walked over to Adal, reaching for the bottles. “How are you feeling?”

“Were the men with me hurt?” she said, resting on her elbows.

The priestess pulled the Hydra bottle off of the stand. “Minor injuries, in most cases. Aside from the two, who…”

Adal sighed and lay back down, hands to her face. “Yeah. I know.”

She sat next to her, putting a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Adal. You’ve come though hell to get here.”

That voice…Adal narrowed her eyes, and her mouth was open to ask as she draped her veil back over her head. Her features were sharp and delicate, amber-skinned with nearly black hair braided into a crown, a few threads of white mixed in. The age was new, but the face— “ _Fen_.”

There were tears in her smile, Fen of the hood with the faded old roses, Fen who walked hand in hand with Peda. Adal reached out, cupping her face in her hands. “You aged well,” she said, and Fen laughed. “Have you…?”

“That was Peda, with you?” she said, gripping her arms tight.

“It’s her,” she said. “Did you two…?”

Her eyes dropped. “Not yet. I only caught a glimpse of her, we were busy with…” Fen took a breath and seemed to rally, forcing a smile. “But you brought her back to me, Adal. _Thank you._ ”

“God, Fen, it’s just good to see old faces after so long.” She wiped the tears off her cheeks, and her own, trying to get hold of herself. “And…Ayla?”

“Celsa, now,” she said, holding Adal’s hand as she wiped away tears. “She’s still here. We’re friends, but…she doesn’t know.”

Adal let her head fall back. Fen was alive, and Peda, and their daughter…

At least someone was getting a happy ending out of this.

“I haven’t been allowed to speak with the men. She’s been put with them, we don’t have any other housing for an outsider,” Fen said, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go. “I can’t believe how much has happened…”

“Neither can I, and I lived it,” Adal said, folding her arms across her middle, careful of the needle in her elbow. She glanced down. “And my…?”

“You kept the leg,” Fen said, leaning with her elbows on her knees. “But you won’t be walking for a while, or at least, not well. Aquilina spent most of yesterday pulling shrapnel and bits of bone out of it.”

She closed her eyes. “When can I go see them?” she said.

Fen hesitated. “You can’t…”

“I can’t stay _here_ ,” she said, and started to sit up.

“You can’t walk, Adal!” Fen stopped her as she tried to swing her legs off the bed. “Please trust me. You haven’t seen it with the bandages off, and I _have._ ”

Her leg hurt, in a muffled way, and she just felt tired, listless… “I don’t want the medicine,” she said, laying back. “Whatever you’re giving me. I don’t want it.”

“You need it. Trust me,” Fen said, touching her arm—and ready to grab her hand. “It’s mostly fluids anyway, you lost a lot of blood.”

“I don’t care.” The tears were welling up again, and she clenched her teeth. “I don’t want it.”

“Dearling, you can’t…”

“I don’t…” The lump in her throat stopped anything more. Even with Fen beside her, holding her and murmuring reassurance, she was cold, alone, and watching the world spin without her.

***

“Anything good out there?”

Fulvius dropped the curtain, turning sheepishly back to the room. “A couple priestesses…?”

“Forbidden fruit,” Varro said, sitting on the couch and honing a knife. “I’d call that good.”

Ulysses’ clothes had been returned with breakfast, washed and without a trace of blood. He finished settling his duster, taking a quick pat-down inventory that all his gear was in place. The three in the living area ignored him, but Seneca gave him a slight nod, seated at the kitchen bar with a book.

“Forbidden for a reason,” Marcus said, his rifle laid out in pieces across the coffee table. “Don’t listen to him.”

“Right, you wouldn’t care,” Varro said, testing the blade on his thumb. “Weren’t you and Seneca offered posts here? Sounded like Columba thought you twd’d be safe around the girls.”

“I had no interest in being part of his little troop of underachievers,” Marcus said. “I was insulted and let him know.”

Varro snorted. “’Him’, you think?”

“He’s a Legionary,” Marcus said, lining up a few screws on the tabletop. ”What else would he be?”

Fulvius watched them, looking from one to he other as they spoke.

“You’ve seen him up close?”

“Obviously.”

“Isn’t he a little small for a Legionary? Delicate, even?”

“Thought I was the one with a taste for men.”

“No one’s seen his wife pregnant.”

“He must be meeting the child quotas, to hold his position so long.”

Varro sat back, putting his feet on the table. Marcus glared at them until he shifted them away from his work. “Well, anyway, there are rumors.”

“Sure,” Marcus said, dropping the weighted end of a cord down the barrel.

“Even if there are rumors, you’d do better to ignore them,” Seneca said, not looking up. “No concern of ours.”

“You don’t find it interesting?” Varro said, turning to him. “I have always thought this place was strange, and not only because of the women…”

“I think you’re gossiping like a pair of slaves that need a beating,” Seneca said.

There was a cough from one of the bedrooms, the door open. Seneca glanced aside, and Peda stared back, under the shadow of her hood. He own rifle was broken down on the floor for cleaning, but her hand hovered over a heavy revolver beside her. “All of you shut up or talk about something else,” he said, finding his place in his book. “That’s an order.”

Peda kept her head up a moment longer, looking at Ulysses. Her hand left the revolver, but her gaze lingered before turning back to the rifle. The Guard had escorted her in the evening before, bandages rewrapped, fuming. She had said nothing to the rest of them, not even asked after Adal, and shut herself in the empty bedroom. She had barely left it when a preistess arrived with breakfast, taking a plate of whatever was closest and retreating.

But now her door stood open, watching the men suspiciously whenever they came into view…and staring at Ulysses again, in particular. He matched the look, and she jerked her head, beckoning.

“Close it,” she said as he stepped into the room. Ulysses obliged, sitting cross-legged on the far side of the room. Peda continued to watch him under her brow, reassembling her gun. “You’re getting me back into that Temple.” He waited, as she checked the rifle’s action and safety, reloaded it before setting it aside and starting to strip the revolver. “One of the healers. The one looking after Adal. She’s my goddamn wife and I’m getting her out.”

“Did you see her?” The question was out before her last statement even sank in. Peda narrowed her eyes at him, and Ulysses bowed his head slightly, said, “Go on.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” she said. “I’m not staying in here with these…” Peda seemed to struggle to find a strong enough word, and turned her head to spit. “I know Fen saw me, but couldn’t say anything. Too busy with Adal. Had her drugged, stitching up her leg.”

“Is she…”

“The fuck do I know about…” Peda bared her teeth, but pursed her lips over them, expression softening as she looked at him. “If they were working on her that long, it was bad. But if she was _alive_ that long under the knife, she’ll probably pull through. Adal’s tough, and Fen’s looking after her. That’s good odds.”

He nodded, staring at the floor. Tough. More than tough, to survive so much hardship, some core of steel in her, to keep pressing on…

“You love her?”

“Yes,” before he even realized he’d answered, and Ulysses looked up. Peda gave him a measuring look, pieces of the revolver left to lie. “Yes,” again, softer, remembering the hurt, the silence…

“I don’t like you overmuch,” Peda said, voice low. “But we’re both getting our women out of here safe, right? Neither of us is doing that alone.”

“And their help?” he asked, nodding at the door.

“Fuck them,” she said, picking up the revolver’s cylinder. “You heard them as well as I did.”

“Have a word with Seneca,” Ulysses said, standing.

“Like hell you will. Sit down, I’m not done.” She glowered until he did, and went on, “Not staying in this room until we either rot or riot. I get into the Temple somehow, I can find Adal, maybe get you to her. I don’t like the game they’re playing, keeping us apart.”

“Won’t argue that,” he said. “Marius came through with your group? Lucia?”

“They did, and went to report right away,” Peda said. “Not so much as a goodbye from him, not that I expected one from that other little shit.”

He snorted. Peda almost grinned. “Knew him, then?” he asked.

The look faded, her face hardening. “Knew Alam. This Marius is just one more Legionary.”

He could feel the tension creep back in, a faint strain in the air as he breathed. Seneca was speaking in the main room, voice harsh. She turned back to her gun, and Ulysses nodded to her and stood to leave

“…did the right thing, killing himself rather than returning to serve under her,” Seneca finished as Ulysses opened the door, his book closed on his finger. The other three Limitanei looked at each other. The older two ducked their heads and went back to their weapons, not acknowledging Ulysses, and the younger stared out the window.

He opened his book again with enough force to crack the spine, frowning down at it. Rather than press him, Ulysses hooked a stool away from the bar with his boot—and stopped, hearing voices outside the door.

“Orders. Take it up with the Temple, then!” Marius walked backwards through the door, the Guards outside looking uncertainly at each other as he closed it. He paused as he turned, the Limitanei standing to stare, and even Peda hovering in the door of her room. “What do you know?” he said, folding his arms over the stark black Order uniform.

“Courier’s injured, but will likely survive, is our news,” Ulysses said. “Better have brought more.”

“If it’s any comfort, she’s alive and awake, but…weak, yet. Nobody’s spoken to you?” Heads were shaken, and he sighed. “Hell. This feels wrong.”

“Are you here to be vague at us, or do you have actual information?” Seneca said.

“I can’t be certain at all of this yet,” Marius said, fidgeting with his scarf. “But it sounds the High Priestess has no plan to meet with any of you, including the Courier.” He raised a hand as Ulysses took a breath, and said, “Lucia. They have her on other tasks right now, but she’s managed to pass that on. I can’t corroborate it yet, but…”

“ _You_ brought her here,” Ulysses said. “Set a whole chain in motion, just to be told to _wait?_ ”

He could only see Adal in him, pressing his lips thin and sighing through his nose. “Tell me about her robots, those Securitrons. No chance they’re going to find their way here, at her call?”

They all looked to Ulysses. He folded his arms, thinking. “Mentioned she extended their reach, not long ago,” he said. “Don’t know how far that goes. Likely not to here.”

“Good,” Marius said, but with little confidence to back it. “Might push the Temple in a poor direction, having her army show up on their doorstep.”

“What direction?” Seneca asked, leaning back on his stool.

“Not sure,” Marius said—and started fidgeting again, as he did.

Seneca snorted. “And you were Frumentarii? I’ve seen better bluffs from children. Tell us what you know.”

Marius gave him a tight-lipped look, and lowered his hand. “I’m not even allowed into the Temple,” he said, “so everything I have is conjecture. Even Lucia was only able to get me a note, not see me in person—that alone means more is happening at higher levels than I.”

“You’re giving us more than that, or you’re not leaving this room.” Ulysses jumped, forgetting Peda behind him. She stepped forward. “You think they’ll kill her, her robots show up?”

“No,” Marius said, but with enough hesitation to make Ulysses’ heart sink. “They wouldn’t be stupid enough.”

“Venator wants her alive,” Ulysses said. Marius didn’t look up, but nodded. Seneca looked over, alarm sinking in. “Would they…?”

“I don’t know,” Marius said. “It would be foolish, on their part, even if it bought them clemency. But the siege has gone on longer than we anticipated, and we cannot continue to hold.” He shook his head. “We still have a civilian population here to support. Things are getting lean, and people are getting desperate.”

“We need someone in the Temple,” Peda said. “And like hell I’m staying here…”

***

“She’s Regula’s assistant, now,” Fen said, lining up supplies on the desk. “Works out in the gardens, so I have a reason to spend time with her.”

Adal lay back, a bowl of broth balanced on her chest. “She a priestess then?”

“No. She was going to be a wife,” Fen said, head down as she organized her things. “We stopped sending wives and slaves out of the city about the same time Caesar died, so we managed to hold on to her.”

“Dodged that bullet,” Adal said, taking a sip of broth.

Fen nodded, unscrewing a jar of dried fungus. “Aquilina’s predecessor managed to push the age of the wives back, before they could be married. Told the Consul we were seeing too many difficult births. Apparently _he_ was the one to pass out when his wife went into labor, so there wasn’t much argument,” she said. Adal snorted into her bowl. Fen smiled, starting to grind the fungus with mortar and pestle. “It’s the only reason she’s still here for me to find. I take it as providence that she hadn’t been married off—and that I wasn’t made a wife, either.”

Wives… “Aelius’ wife,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“Who?”

“I met Sabina, one of the centurion’s wives, in the Limitanei camp,” Adal said. “She was asking about a…Celia? Camilla? His other wife. She was sent here, before the battle at the Dam.”

“To have a child?” Fen said, pulling a drawer open.

“Sounded like,” Adal said. “She wanted me to bring back news.”

“I can see. We hold their records up here a couple years, that’s when mortalities are most likely,” she said, pulling a sheaf of paper from the drawer. “Marcus Aelius? White Sands?”

“Sure,” Adal said, watching her riffle through the stack. “She need an out? I know all these wives are assigned…”

“I don’t know her well enough to say,” Fen said, pulling out a sheet. “Here. Camilla had…a healthy boy, named Blasius. Bit of a cleft lip, but sounds like it wasn’t enough to keep him from nursing.” She set the papers aside, smiling faintly. “She should still be here, then. We haven’t sent out any of the wives, either, who came in last year.”

Adal glanced at the stack of papers, one catching her eye. “And the kid?”

Fen hesitated, shaking a jar of what looked like blood. “What about him?”

“He going back to his da?”

“I cannot say,” she said, measuring out the liquid. “In the Legion, Camilla would have left the boy here to be raised, and gone back to bear another for him. Now…?” She shrugged.

Adal frowned. “Sounded like Sabina wanted him back.”

“It is between Aelius and the Temple’s—damn.” She knocked a bottle to the floor with her elbow, leaning down to pick it up. With her back turned, Adal snagged the paper off the desk, slipping it under her blanket. “Her, and the Temple’s leaders,” Fen finished, setting the bottle further from the edge.

“Well, I’m _his_ boss, and I rather they were raising kids the normal way instead of this temple nonsense,” Adal said.

“Oh, the creche system has plenty of upsides, actually. A lot of tribes practice it,” Fen said, busy with her mortar. “It frees more hands for work, no one plays preferences with the children, and the boys form strong bonds for when they need to fight. You remember even the Walker, sometimes, would…”

She trailed off, as if feeling Adal’s eyes on her, but didn’t look up as Adal said, “You been here a while.”

Fen turned away, hiding her face behind the hanging edge of her veil. “I suppose I have.”

She kept her head down, continuing her work. Adal watched the batch of Hydra come together, finishing her broth. “Have you seen anyone of ours come though?” Fen raised an eyebrow, and Adal said, “Have you seen any Walker?”

“I don’t know,” she said, dropping her eyes again, as she capped off the bottles.

“So…nobody? At all?”

“I don’t know, Adal. I don’t see everyone who comes through here, and even if I did, what would I say? We had better run off and check on Crossroads, nip back before we’re missed at dinner?”

Adal stared into her empty bowl. “Just…how many of us actually…?”

“You were the only person I know who was in a position to find out.”

Adal frowned. Fen was busy tucking the stack of papers away. “You, too?”

She kept working, tidying the top of the desk. “I’m not accusing you,” Fen said, her voice low. “But if you had wanted to know, you could have found out.”

“So could Peda,” Adal said. Fen wavered, but started stacking the Hydra into a box. “You haven’t gone out there?”

“I can’t.” Her voice, already soft, was almost impossible to hear. “I have no excuse, and they’d break us up if they knew we were tribe.”

“Even now? With the Legion gone?” Adal said.

“Not gone. Just changed,” Fen said, quietly bitter. “It’s slow. We’re trying to form something…something _livable_ out of Caesar’s mess, but our army is made of zealots and martyrs, and most of our priestesses are little better. We haven’t forgotten Mars, the laws Caesar put down in his name, or at least haven’t forgotten that our _fighters_ live by them. We have a balance to keep, the ones working towards something new.”

“Fuck that,” Adal said, setting the bowl aside. “I figured you people’d be ready to throw that all on the pyre, rather’n…”

There were footsteps on the hall, the soft slap of the sandals the priestesses wore. “We aren’t tribe,” Fen said, low and fast, dropping her veil.

The door opened, and the footsteps came around the folding screens at the far end of the room. She was tall, the priestess, a few deliberate-looking scars on the russet skin of her arms. She said nothing as she whisked the blanket off Adal’s feet, beginning to unwrap her bandages. She tried to pull away, but the priestess put a hand on her knee. “Hold still. I didn’t spend most yesterday fixing this for you to pull a stitch now.”

“Hello to you too,” Adal said. “You’re Aquilina, then?”

“I am.” Her voice was low and full, but any warmth in it was lost to her brusqueness. She unpeeled layers of rags, more stained the deeper she went, and Adal had to breathe and lean back. Their painkillers were good—she hadn’t realized how far up her thigh the bandages went, or the ones on her left leg.

“Thanks for putting me back together,” she said, trying not to flinch as she felt around them. “Will I be able to see someone in charge soon?”

“Swelling’s down. No signs of infection, so far,” Aquilina murmured, and turned to leave. “Atella, get these dressed again, with a fresh splint and poultice.”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Hey. I asked you a question.” Aquilina stopped in her tracks, turning slowly to her. Fen froze, half-standing. “Ma’am,” Adal added, trying to meet her eyes through her veil. “I came a hell of a long way to get here, and time’s getting short. I wanna talk with someone about the situation here. Now.”

“That is not possible,” she said, utterly still. “You are not yet able to stand, let alone discuss matters of state. The High Priestess and her council will meet with you when you have regained your strength…A week, perhaps.”

“A…?” The way she said it, _strenth…_ Adal shook her head. “You’ve seen the size of the army out there. You don’t have a week.”

“It is beyond my control.” Aquilina inclined her head, a gesture more of imparting a favor than acknowledgment.

“Oh, I doubt _that_ ,” Adal said to her back, and raised her voice. “Dunno what else I expected, from someone blackmailing me with my own son.”

“Blackmail?” She paused with her hand on the door, looking back over her shoulder. “Marius volunteered, Courier. Both his parentage, and for the mission.” She looked away, opening the door. “We are preparing a private room for you, and should have you moved there later today. For your convenience.”

The door shut. Fen still stood beside the desk, leaning on it slightly. Adal stared at her, and she back. “Convenience,” Adal said.

Fen bowed her head, going to a cabinet. “Convenient for them,” she said, taking out a stack of linens.

“Is there any way we can…?” Adal said, trying to sit up.

“There’s nothing I can do,” she said, sitting beside her. “If they think I’m aiding you, they’ll reassign me.”

Adal didn’t watch as she worked, staring at a crack in the ceiling.

_When you have regained your strength._

_Strenth._ She knew that accent. She knew it _well_. The scarring on her arms, even, regular and ritual…

Adal swallowed hard. Ulysses had been bad enough, on his lonesome. The thought of a Twisted Hairs woman, with a very different Temple at her back, made her stomach sink.


	14. Chapter 14

The fabric-wrapped end of her crutched bumped on the glass. Adal muttered to herself, adjusting her grip as she tried to snag the window catch. It slipped once, then caught, and she pulled steadily. The lever scraped as she did, finally coming loose with a click.

“Suck it.” She hooked the handle on it, pushing it open. Still sitting on the bed, she angled her Pip-boy towards it, playing with a dial.

Aquilina had made good on her promise of a private room, two of their Guard showing up to carry her there. Neither had dared lay a hand on her, after a comment about her good knee and the safety of their manhoods, despite Fen’s protests. She had finally given in and found a pair of crutches for her to hobble along with, ready to grab her as she walked. It had made for a dizzy, painful trip, and the room at the end was small, with little more than a bed, couch, and a bathroom off the side. But damned if she hadn’t managed under her own power.

She sighed, putting her arm down. Her leg ached as she used the crutch to lever herself up, getting a grip on the windowsill. Adal managed to drag most of her torso through it, her middle taking her weight instead of her legs. She admired the view, looking out over the Temple gardens two stories up, as she fussed with the Pip-boy.

Her head came up at a commotion in the hall, trying to wriggle down from her perch. Voices were raised, protesting, and finally her door was thrown open with a bang.

“What the hell did you expect?” Peda yelled, pack and cloak gone, stepping back towards the door. A Guard slammed it shut before she made two steps. “You put me in with a bunch of you boys, and think I _won’t_ cause trouble? Huh?” She banged on the door, and it didn’t budge. Sighing, she turned back. “What in the actual fuck are you doing?”

“Bustin’ out of this joint,” Adal said, looking back over her shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

Peda rolled her eyes and got Adal’s arm over her shoulders, helping her lay back down. She hissed as she straightened her leg, and Peda gave it a horrified look. “They weren’t fucking kidding.”

“I know, this shirt looks awful on me,” Adal said, smoothing the old gray tunic out. “What’d you do? Proposition one, or threaten them?”

“Depends on which of ‘em you ask,” Peda said, leaning over her. She pulled a scrap of blue cloth out of a pocket, closing it under the window edge. “How long you think they been recruiting women?”

“They what? No way they have.”

“One of your men won a bet off it,” Peda said, plopping back on the couch.

“Huh.” Adal shoved at the pillow, looking at her more directly. “How is everyone?”

She shrugged. “Just glad I’m out of there.”

“Peda. _Please._ ”

She pursed her lips. “Your man’s shook. The boys are still assholes, and the old one’s ready to slit his throat over the one who pulled the grenade. Wish he’d get it over with.”

“ _Peda_!” Adal pushed herself up on her elbows. “Fuck off with that, I owe them my life to get this far.”

“Minus the whole ‘grenade’ thing,” Peda said.

Adal opened her mouth, shut it again. “And I lived through it, so the rest of ‘em better think twice before tryin’ me.” Peda snorted. “I ain’t asking you to trust ‘em. Just to trust me, and right now, I need everyone on my side I can get.”

Peda stared her down, before finally dropping her eyes. “Well, at least you got me watching your back.”

Adal lay back, looking at the bit of cloth, the same blue as the Limitanei’s sashes. “You do know we’re two floors up?”

“Ah, make ‘em work for it,” Peda said, putting her feet up on the bed. “It’s brick, shouldn’t be a bad climb. I might risk it, anyway.” She reached down, picking up a slip of paper that had fallen on the floor. “The hell’s this? You read Latin?”

“No,” Adal said. “Pretty straightforward though, it’s one of the priestesses’ records. For that Praetorian, the big one.”

“Calidus? Hm…” She ran her finger down it. “What’s this, a birth date?” 

“That’s what I figured,” Adal said, leaning to look. “Birth date, and another, probably when his tribe got done in.”

“‘53…Be a little older’n Ches,” Peda said. “’67 though, that’s the same year the Walker…” She shrugged. “’UT borealis’, though, that’s north Utah. Probably in one of the groups we ran into.”

“Another thing caught my eye, though. 2278, there.”

“’Sana puella Passercula’,” Peda said. “That’s, what, a girl? ‘Puer’ is boy, so… What’s important about it?”

“Met a girl in the infirmary,” Adal said, taking the sheet back. “Six year old Passercula, goes by Paz.”

Peda raised her eyebrows, sitting back with her arms folded. “Well now. I’d call that more’n coincidence.”

“They blackmailing him?” Adal said.

Peda gnawed her lip, thinking. “Not real likely, I’d say? They tend to not let the men close to the kids, take them away soon as they can. Think Caesar was worried about words like ‘dynasty’.”

“Should I worry about it? The hell’s dynasty?”

“Means a ruling bloodline, _idi_.”

“Whatever.” She looked at the list. “Couple other years, but of Latin instead of names, so I’d guess they weren’t…”

“Viable,” Peda said, and shrugged at Adal’s look. “First one was stillborn, is my guess, ‘natus mortua’.”

And at the bottom… “So that’s our little baby Caesar, huh. Hastus, he’s down here as.”

“Lucia thinks the Legate’s keeping Calidus in line, threatening the boy,” Peda said. “Might be the Temple _is_ doing the same with the girl.”

Adal frowned. “What a fucking embarrassment. You wanna fight a war, point a gun at someone who can fight _back,_ not a kid.”

“I hear you, trust me,” Peda said, looking at the window. “Heard Lucia talking about him. Started out a tribal kid, himself. Legion broke him bad, turned into one of their monsters, the kind of crazy violent they like. Wouldn’t think twice about killing the boy.”

“’Hunter’,” Adal snorted. “Disgrace to any goddamn hunter I know.”

“Hear that,” Peda said again, quieter. They sat in silence a moment, companionable, until she said, “Your man’s worried about you.”

“M’worried about him,” she said, rubbing her face.

“And?” Peda stared at her, arms folded.

Adal lay back, closing her eyes against the throb in her legs. “And nothing. Just worried.”

“Spill.”

“What? No.”

“Can’t tell me you’re not fighting over _something_.” Adal kept her mouth shut, but Peda went on, “Mentioned the Divide to me. That you…”

Adal grumbled to herself, not looking up. “This ain’t your problem.”

“Adal.” Peda’s voice was soft, around her lisp. She looked over, and her cousin was frowning. Without the shadow of her hood, the gray of her hair was more apparent, the lines on her face. “I never had a little sister. Had you, though, even if you were an insufferable brat. We’ve been through a lot of shit together, and there’s nothing you can’t tell me. And if you need me to shove him out that window when he shows up, you ought to tell me now.”

She stared at her, trying to find words. Finally she threw her pillow at her, and wiped at her eyes. “ _Churon_.”

“ _Nu dea_.” Peda caught it and tossed it back.

Adal sighed, smiling despite herself. “Hell, Peda, where to start on that bastard…”

***

“…That’s where we stand.” Adal said. “We got a lot of bad blood, Ped, but…He ain’t done me wrong, since we started…” she waved a hand. “Least, not that I know of.”

Peda sat on the opposite end of the bed, feet next to Adal. She picked crumbs off the plate on her lap, face clouded. “You really can pick ‘em,” she said. “What _have_ you two talked about?””

Adal shrugged. “Not much,” she said. “Recent things, mostly. Since the battle at the Dam.”

Peda shook her head, setting the plate aside. “Nothing about _you_? About where you both been?”

Adal opened her mouth, closed it. She looked down, toying with a hole in the edge of her shirt. “Thought about it,” she said, voice soft. “Hurts too much, Peda. It’s all in the past, now, doesn’t matter. Doesn’t help anyone to dig it all back up.”

She shook her head, pulling a thread loose and winding it around her fingers. She could see it in his eyes, sometimes, something lurking there before he turned away. Almost stopped him and asked, each time, but felt a guilty rush of relief that the moment had passed, without having to—

“Ow!”

Peda had leaned forward, fingers crooked for another flick. “You’re an idiot.”

Adal kept her hand on her ear, scowling. “You wanna say that again?”

“Try me, cripple.”

Peda sat up to kneel on the bed, pressing her face to the window. Adal leaned away, coming up short with a grunt as her legs shifted. “I’m kicking your ass once I can kick again.”

“Right.” Peda pushed the window open, reaching out. She dropped a roll of canvas and Adal’s rifle on the bed, and reached back out to toss Adal’s pack on the floor.

“You could be a little nicer to—” Peda shuffled away, and Ulysses got his shoulders through the window. Peda gave him a handhold as he climbed through, stepping over Adal and onto the floor.

He nodded to Peda, who didn’t acknowledge it, before turning back to Adal. “Are you…” He trailed off, looking her up and down, concern in his frown, in how he started to reach out to touch her. Adal caught his eye, and he hesitated.

Peda cleared her throat, and he stepped aside, watching both of them. “Thanks for bringing the stuff,” she said gruffly. “Here. Marius managed to get us some of your shit, but dragging your armor up here is gonna be a pain,” she said, nudging her pack with her foot. “And where’d you get that shitty-looking rifle?”

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ ,” Adal said, pulling it onto her lap. “I only took it off a dead turbo-ghoul in the Divide, and almost died doing it.”

“Looks like a dirty old piece of crap.”

“Hey, granny, should get out of the mirror then.”

Peda frowned away a grin, and held up a finger, yielding. “Shouldn’t talk to your Elder like that.”

“Your no more Elder’n me,” Adal said, arms folded.

“Older’n you.” Peda said, picking up the roll of canvas. “I’ve done all my Trials, and tell me eighteen years kicking around Legion territory isn’t a Long Walk.”

“So have I, thanks for asking,” she said. “And I got eighteen years doing similar.”

“Still older than you.”

“Oh, and so much wiser, then?”

“You say ‘ain’t’.”

“Now listen here, you—”

Ulysses cleared his throat, and they both glanced over at him. “Anyway,” Peda said, looking at the canvas. She laid it on the bed, starting to unroll it. “Green River found some of our guns. I left most of ‘em back at Crossroads, but…You and Sen weren’t there. Hoped I might find you two.”

She didn’t touch the hunting rifle, the bluing on the steel slightly discolored, dirt still caked in the receiver. “Sen’s gun,” she said, quietly. Her hand hovered over the outline of a bull burned into the stock, but didn’t quite reach to brush the dirt from it. “It’s been a Walker gun for eighteen years, and Sen was the first, and only, to hold it. He took it from a Legion veteran in Utah, in a fair fight, killed the Legionary holding it with only a spear.”

She stared down at it a moment longer, and slowly folded the edge of the canvas back over it. “I’ll take it back up to Crossroads, to put with the rest. It’ll get carried again, by someone selfless and brave, as Sen was. They’ll restore it and honor it, in his memory, keep him alive by speaking his name.”

Peda had to pause, a hand over her eyes. Adal swallowed, wiping her face on her sleeve. There was a touch on her shoulder, light and hesitant, and she gripped Ulysses’ hand to her. She glanced up at him, sorrow in him as he looked at the gun, hidden from sight.

“This one…” Peda wiped her cheeks with the back of her wrist, sniffed hard. “It’d be traditional for me to tell you the story of it, and have you memorize it before I gave it to you, but you’ve done that once, with Gabrel.” She finished rolling up the canvas, sliding it out from under the heavy old brush gun.

Adal drew back from it, sliding away under the sheets. “Althea’s gun.”

“Althea’s gun,” Peda said, cradling rolled canvas in her arms. “You earned it once. You earned the right to it, defending your people. You lost it, but I think you earned the right to hold it again, going to war with the Legion, and defending the Mojave.” She narrowed her eyes. “And if you lose it a second time, I’m kicking your ass from here to the far coast.”

“I can’t…”

“Needs a hell of a lot of cleaning, and repairs,” Peda said, tucking Sen’s gun under the bed. “I’ll be back before dawn. You ought to be gone around then, too,” with a nod at Ulysses.

Peda knelt next to the door, pulling a pin from her hair and a screwdriver from the waist of her skirt. “Infirmary’s down the east stairs, third door on the left,” Adal said, Peda paused, looking back. “There’s a room off the back. Fen must sleep there, or nearby.”

She smiled, through what was left of her tears, and bent her head over the lock. It came undone with a click, and she opened it just enough to look up and down the hall before slipping out.

Her footsteps padded away. Adal didn’t look up as Ulysses settled on the couch, still almost within reach. Her eye fell on the rifle on the bed, and refused to let it go.

“It was a goose,” she said into the silence. He raised his head, sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands folded. “Laid golden eggs. Not even sure what a goose is, guess that’s why I didn’t remember the story.” He didn’t quite laugh, just a sigh through the nose as he looked away. She reached toward the floor. “Hand me my pack?”

He passed it to her, and Adal settled with her left leg folded up, the splinted right one out straight. Not quite looking at her, he asked, “Need help?”

“I’m fine.” She had to stop and breathe until the pain faded, before flipping open her pack. It was stuffed tight, and she pulled her duster and clothes out of it, bundled up into a single efficient roll. “Thanks for bringing these.”

“Marius’ idea,” he said, staring at the brush gun again. “Worried about you. Won’t admit it.”

Adal hesitated, unwrapping her duster enough to pull out her cigarettes and lighter. “Everyone else okay?” she said, nudging the window wider for his sake.

“Ones who survived,” he said, low. “Seneca…Blames himself, for this. His men won’t step out of line, fear of him, what duty they have left.”

She took a long draw of the cigarette. “Shouldn’t have happened. No,” she said, cutting him off. “If he wanted me dead, and was willin’ to die for it, nobody woulda stopped him. Just shouldn’t’ve…” Animal fear in his eyes, even as he threw himself on a grenade for her. Adal shuddered. “Shouldn’t have meant another died.”

She kept her head down, expected something to the tune of _they knew the risks,_ but Ulysses just sighed. “No sign of Lucia, but passed a note to Marius,” he said at last. “Got us in here.”

She pulled the cleaning kit out of her bag, spreading out the ratty old cloth it was wrapped in and laying the tools beside her. “You alright?”

He said nothing, and she dragged both the brush guns onto the cloth, her own, and the Walker one; mirror images of each other except for the wear, the same model. She finally looked up, meeting his eyes. The weight and worry in them made it a lie, when he said, “Be fine, Courier.”

She breathed down the last of the cigarette like air, stubbed it out on her dinner plate. “We been doing this long enough, I know what that means.” Silence. Adal stared down at the guns, the one so filthy she wasn’t sure where to start. “Peda thinks we’re a couple of jackasses, can’t talk about things.”

A snort. “Said as much to me.”

“Nice to know I’m not the only one thinking it,” Adal said, picking up the Walker gun. The action ground as she worked it, glanced inside the chamber—empty. She didn’t look up as she uncapped a bottle and started soaking the gun with solvent. She let it work into the gaps, taking a soft brush to scrub at the stock. “Never thought I’d see this thing again.”

He laid a hand next to the other one, not quite touching. She had taped it some time back, keeping a split from growing from the end of the stock. Next to the Walker gun, the tape lined up with a carved band, blue paint still visible under the grime. “Remembered it, still?”

“Huh. Must have, somehow,” she said, trying to keep the dirt from flicking all over the bed.

“Althea’s gun,” he said, turning the name over. “Named your weapons?”

“In a way.” She had to use the tip of a screwdriver to get crap out of the finer carvings. “Named for where they came from, or who made it a Walker gun.”

“Who was Althea?”

The story was there in her throat, but something in it cut at her as she took a breath to speak. “My ma’s was Old Man Tai’s,” she said instead. “He was the first of us to hunt deathclaws. Went out on the trail like a ghost, only knowing something terrible stood in his band’s path to safety. They say he was so calm, so steady that his heart didn’t beat as he hunted, left a dozen deathclaws dead in a canyon. A patient gun. A thoughtful one. That was her…don’t think I ever saw her miss.”

He tipped his head to see what she was doing, let her concentrate. “She earned it not long after I was born, a drought year. Her band was trapped in the north mountains, without a drop of water to their name. So she left them at an oasis that was little more than a puddle, and with a babe at her breast, followed the slope of the land and the prickle of her feet to a farm, hung with what looked like corpses, but made of cloth and animal guts.”

The carvings were coming clean, but it felt wrong, speaking of someone else as she looked at them. She grabbed a rag instead, working loose the surface dirt from the steel. “Even in the drought, the plants there were green, so she hid to see who tended them. They came from the ground at night, ghost-men with eyes like owls and skin like cobwebs. Where most hunters would have taken flight and run or fought, she showed herself to them slow, like to a frightened dog. 

“They took pity on her, and her babe, at how her lips bled from thirst, took her underground to a lake.” Another round of solvent, the rag coming away black. “She took as many water skins she could carry, found her band and led them there. They survived for her, and for that Jia out of Valo and Neva, earned Tai’s gun, for patience and thought.”

She swallowed hard, a lump in her throat. Where was she now? They hadn’t Walked together, years before their tribe had…

“This is…” he said, jarring her, her hands gone still as she stared at them. Ulysses ran a braid through his fingers, the bead on it a wrap of thick copper wire. The hair above and below it was subtly different, knotted rather than twisted. “For my own. Chiela.” He didn’t look up as he spoke, lost, and Adal almost held her breath. “One of our scouts. Travelers. Twisted Hairs held more land than could be walked in a day, needed people with restless feet to pass messages, supplies, news. Grew up in her footsteps.”

“Courier,” Adal said.

He brushed at the bead one last time, pain in his eyes even as he smiled. “Something like,” he said, voice rough. “Taught me life, out in the world. Took us past our borders, to other tribes. Learned their ways of seeing, making…surviving. But she…”

He shook his head, the words choked. Adal reached out, rubbing his cheek with the back of her fingers rather than the muck on her palm. “I know,” she said, softly.

He held her arm, leaning into the touch, eyes closed. “Kept her close, in surviving,” he said. “Her ghost, her memory…no one to carry it but me. Owe her better.”

She drew her hand back, and his touch lingered, not wanting to let go. “I know,” she said again, with nothing else to offer.

He let her work a moment longer, composing himself. She kept her eyes down, giving him space, as she went back to the stock of the gun. “Althea was…” She had to take a breath, let it out slow, and pointed to the large X on the butt end of the stock. “She was a woman in the hard few years after the bombs fell. when there was no difference between townie or raider or tribal, just folk scraping by and killin' each other over a bit of food. The people she was with, the first Walker, had been ambushed by them, as they tried to cross the Big Sip going west.” She pointed the the carved band filled in blue, wrapping around the wood, separating the X from the rest of the markings.

“Some of their men were captured, held as ransom for whatever food and supplies the Walker had, or they’d eat the men alive.” There were rows of X-es on the forward side of the band. “Althea came to their camp, said she was there to trade, gave herself up to their boss in exchange for the men.” There was a bitter smile on her lips. It had seemed so much tidier then, but the shine had worn to tarnish, with all she knew.

“The others didn’t want to leave her, didn’t even want her to go, so they got ready to rush the raiders themselves. Instead, during the night, there was gunfire in the camp,” she said “Althea took the raider boss’s own rifle as he slept and shot him dead with it, and every man in the camp. Walked out to her kin in a red, bloody dawn.” The stock itself was painted red on the carved side, fading as it reached toward the grip. One last, large X was cut into the faintest part of it, almost under where the shooter’s hand would lay. “That was Althea’s gun, shield and sacrifice.”

She opened her mouth to say more, but the words stuck in her throat. She lowered her head, reaching for her screwdriver. “Your turn.”

He watched her work, disassembling the gun, chunks of dirt and residue flaking away as she broke it down. “Thought you kept your histories in songs,” he said. “Jodies, for the road.”

“Cheater.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and she shrugged. “These are fire-stories. Kind of thing where you sit around in the evening, personal stories, or trying to talk big, or just about stuff that ain’t important enough to be sung about. Hunters kept the records of the guns, that was theirs to do. Elders only knew them if they carried that gun with the group, to gift it to a hunter later on.”

Back to the reek of solvent and a wire brush, scrubbing all the smaller components down. She didn’t look up as he said, “Weavers, to keep ours. Storytellers. Men, women, recalled our histories, listened to the old... Wore shawls, scarves, each twist and weft in them some memory. _Wore_ our history. Wove it into a real thing, to be carried.”

“You were one of them?” she said, a flick of her eyes at his duster, the symbol on the back.

“No. A scout, a hunter,” he said. “They led us. Guided us. Kept us from repeating mistakes.” Didn’t look at her as he said, “Respected them. Always watching for more history as I ranged, hunting for Old World relics, words. Brought them back to…”

“Someone gone,” she said, filling the silence. “They—he? She? She,” at his nod, “carry your mark? You hers?”

He sighed, old pain lingering in he sound. “Not long. Didn’t just bring back history, at the last. Brought the Bull. Thought…” His mouth twisted. “Thought I brought power. A better way, against the tribes we warred with.” He scoffed. “Power enough. Power against us, helped them take the Arizona wastes. Blinded by it, until the last. She knew…”

Something clicked. “I found a book, in the Fort. Before it burned,” she said. He lifted his head, didn’t meet her eyes. She went on, quiet, “Was a…It was a slave ledger. Mentioned your folk. What happened to them.”

He was looking at her now, intent, something haunted in his eyes. “Do you…”

She was already shaking her head. “Gave it to the Khans,” she said, and he frowned. “They were aiming to ally with the Legion. Power, and a better way.” The look softened, beginning to understand. “Showed that to them, told them where it was from. Hauled the Legion agent camped with them out of his room, cut him down on the spot when he couldn’t lie up an answer.”

He took a breath, didn’t seem able to come up with a start. “History of yours kept it all from happening again,” she said, looking at some of the parts in her hand. Corrosion had gotten to them, locking them together. “They left the Mojave, didn’t fight at the Dam. Went northeast, after the battle. Might track them down someday. They musta held on to it.”

“No. I…” He swallowed. “Anything…anything it held… No gain to be had in it. Know what happened. Know enough.”

“Yeah.” Adal picked up the other gun, the Divide rifle, and started breaking it down. He felt idly at his hair as she worked, eyes lost, counting, remembering. “You asked _me_ two,” she said. “Said it was fine, me liking the one.”

A slight smile as he brought it forward, a .45-.70 shell, the same caliber as her rifle. “Should have asked, first…” He caught her look, and he glanced away. “Can get rid of it, if you want.”

She traded out the corroded parts. “Leave it. For now.”

Back to silence, her working with her head down, for a moment pretending he wasn’t there. “More than just people,” he said, and she looked up under her brow. “Whole strands just for kin and bloodline, but the rest…” He raked through his braids, staring at the guns. “Starts small, knots for family, protection. Names. Come of age, and one for yourself, to give to others.” This with his hand lingering on a bead of deep blue glass, the knots around it no different to her eye than the rest.

He dropped it, pulling forth another. “Deeds.” He paused, starting from another strand. Nearer to the end—older?—was a bright metal ring,. “Big Empty. Speaking with the gods there.” Above it, a strand of diodes with their wires wrapped together, forming a bead. “Reawakening the Divide.” 

Slower, doubting, another strand. “Canaan,” the newest, the last, a .45 casing up near the root. More, below them, wraps of red thread and other changes in the weave of it. He brushed at them, and just said, “Legion.”

“You carry those?” she asked, counting the other strands, the twists and knots in them, many and varied and their meaning opaque to her. “Willingly.”

“Someone _has_ to carry that history,” he said, with a depth or regret that made her reach out, brushing his arm. He twisted his fingers through hers, regardless of the grime. “Doomed to forget, otherwise.”

He held on a long moment, and she let him. At the last, he gave her hand a squeeze, and gestured at her work. “And this, earned?”

Adal sighed, looking down at the mess in front of her. “The Walker were in Circle Junction when it came under siege, long before they built their wall. Even before the Legion, they had trouble with raiders, there to kill and kidnap and whatever the fuck else they felt like. There was little the locals could do but hole up and hide, wait for them to retreat. So the Walker hid with 'em, driving back the raiders who approached the town, trying to fight them off.”

She picked at the guns a moment, thinking. “One young hunter didn’t have the patience to wait, so she stole down into the streets, one of their fighters watching her go. The raiders had camped beyond the old vehicles around the town, beat drums and burned fires to intimidate the townies. She stole a torch from the edge of it, setting fire to all that would burn, bottles of liquor from town used as bombs. They broke, confused, and she made her way to their boss in the madness.

“He was sharper than the rest, saw her coming. Fast fight, but not easy. But she took his head clean off with her knife, held it up in the fire and chaos, promised the same to the rest. It was enough to make the raiders break and run, abandoning their siege.

“So Adal, out of Jia and Ouray, came to carry Althea’s gun, for shield and sacrifice.”

He looked at her, measuring, gave a faint grin. “Changed little.”

She couldn’t return it. “Gabrel, the Elder in charge of her band, gave her the gun that night, had carried it because she knew Adal would earn it somehow, that Walk. And she gained another gift, that came that summer, a towheaded boy born on the road and named for his great-grand.”

“This was Ches,” he said, so quiet she almost imagined.

“That was Ches.” She took a deep breath and let it out slow, full of lightness and echoes. “His father was the Circle Junction man watched her back as she snuck out of town. Tall, and strong. A bowman.”

She paused, gave him the chance, and, “Holloway.”

The hair had been right, something in the voice—”Yes. Ches grew the same strength, next to the Walker children. He tracked a loper in the high meadows like his ma, dragged back the carcass entire rather than let it waste. Trained to hunt and work his quarry, had his heart set on using his hunter’s knife to take a night stalker, make a hood from its hide and be called adult by his people.” The grief welled up, a foul note in the old familiar pain—he had lived, at least a little longer than she thought. She wasn’t sure what hurt worse, thinking he had ended his life on the road, fast and clean…or survived, a Legionary and a slave, or died in their pointless war, or slow, on a cross…

Or in the Mojave, a faceless man in red, through iron sights.

His hand was on her knee, rubbing slowly, the touch grounding her. “Found them going north, to scout,” he said, and she had to stop and refocus, pulled out of her own pain. “Out of our territory. Thought to see what there was to find.” He shook his head, eyes down. “Found an army. Tribes in Arizona…Most were little more than raiders. Raked each others flanks, petty warfare over small gains. Most respected us, our numbers, our reach.” He shrugged, something helpless in it. “Younger man then, stupid, only my own strength and power at issue. Bought their lie. Brought Vulpes Inculta to our nearest camp, to speak with our elders.”

His hand had gone still, but held on, and she placed her own over it. “Told us of Caesar’s plagiarism. Made a compelling story, even if gods like Mars never held much weight with us,” he said, staring at the guns but seeing nothing. “Didn’t fear them. Not yet. No reason to, with a history so short…no perspective, on what they might bring.”

“Hadn’t read up on the old Caesar, by then?” Adal said.

He shook his head, sitting back. “Fragments. Scattered words,” he said. “The Old War killed more than people…Knowledge, histories. Only knew enough to assume Mars’ cult reached back to scholars’ ages. Did, in a way. Argued for them.” He turned away, voice low and bitter. “She fought against. Saw the lies Vulpes fed us, when I was too lost in the thought of glory…Could have ended it there. Could have…”

“I know,” she said, barely above a whisper. He shook his head again, unable to go on. “Marius talked about him, Vulpes. Made me wish I’d left his death to you, or…”

Another shake of the head, and he sat back, teeth clenched. She let him breathe, going back to scouring and assessing. “Marius,” he said at last. “Alam.”

“Alam,” she whispered. Marius now, who didn’t… “Ches and I had a rough year of me trying to carry my weight as a hunter, and him in a sling. The Walker…They’d’ve offered more help if I let ‘em, but…” She shrugged, and he watched her, expression sober. “Jeth, was one of the men in our band. Looked after me, Ches, even though I was too proud to let him, at first. Not long after Ches weaned off, well…” She shrugged, raising her hands with it. “He _might_ have got in my good graces enough that Alam was half his problem.”

Ulysses had that flat look on. “Got into your—”

“Don’t, man,” she said, a hand over her eyes. He almost laughed. “It worked, a while. I was so caught up in the boys. But they grew and he got…mean. Didn’t like me going back to _me_ , I guess, as they found their own feet, and I went back to hunting more, had more fight in me. Started falling apart, not long before…”

The pause was heavy. “When it happened.”

She bowed her head. Adal tried to pick up the thread of it, but the words wouldn’t come. “Brought us to Dry Wells,” he said, his voice low, a faint rasp of pain behind it. “Some of us…saw through it. Fought on the road. Saved them the pain of the cross, or the lash.”

“Chiela,” she said, soft, taking his hand.

He nodded. “Rest of us…either fools, thinking it would go in our favor, or already broken. Or else, thinking the Legion would honor its word. Instead, they took…” He ran his fingers through his braids. “What made us tribe. Didn’t give them that power, over me. By my own hand, my own blade. Made…myself, one of them. Hadn’t done it…”

“That or die,” she said.

He gave her hand a squeeze, holding hard for a moment. She didn’t let go as she steeled herself. “Our bands were coming together, finding all the routes back to Crossroads, where we met each third summer. We’d rescued slaves from an outpost on the river. Lot of mouths to feed, lot of us out hunting,” she said. “We’d… seen the Legion, what the lands under them looked like. Been attacked, no few times. Didn’t hesitate to fire, finding them on our trail. Hunted them, of nights,” she said. He tipped his head when she looked up. “They caught up to us. We were out hunting, me and Ches and others. Came back…Came back to…”

“I know,” subdued.

She drew a shuddering breath. His hands were on hers, her knuckles white on the rifle stock. “We fought. Even Ches.” Swallowed hard. “I had to…I let myself be taken, to spare him. As Althea had.” The next words took longer, throat stopped up by the words, but he made no movement, no interruption. “And he was taken by the Legion, and his brother, when they broke us on the Seventy, left bodies on the pavement and three Walker crucified. Their Elder, Santi, who would die before he marched for them. Sen, a hunter who fought brave, had just earned his gun from the hands of a Legion warrior. And Adal, a fool who thought she could stand against the whole of the Bull.”

She could feel the tears running down her face, pulled back when he reached to brush them away. He settled next to her, and she leaned against him, warm, solid, real. “The Seventy was a trade route. They were found the next morning by a caravan who ran the Utah trails. They cut her down, barely got her on her feet before she Walked on her own to vengeance.

“And she…she found her people, some of them, the old, the lame, the ones too hurt to keep marching. Those who would have fought, resisted. She saw…” It had hurt, so much, she recalled red and dust and lights in her eyes. “Ches. The ravens, the crows…”

“You found him?”

“I saw…” The birds would have eaten his eyes, his tongue, but—no. He was… “A hand. His knife on the road.” She could barely whisper. “Would have tried to fight. I saw…I saw…I don’t…” She looked up at him, saw tears on his face to match her own. “I don’t know.”

The sorrow in him as he stroked her hair, drew her to his chest. “I never saw his face. A hand in the corpses. A child’s. I don’t know.”

“Hush.” He pulled her into his lap, and she held to him tight, solid and real. “Enough.”

“I killed him. Taught him to fight, to make trouble. They would have—”

“ _Hush_ ,” stroking her hair.

“He’s _dead_ because I—”

“They wouldn’t have,” he said, holding her as she tried to pull away. With a crack in his voice, “Seen enough tribes taken. They would prize him for fighting.”

“No. No, I saw…” There weren’t words, just shaking her head, _no, no_.

He pressed his face into her hair, rubbing at her back, whispering apologies, _he knew, he had seen this happen, he would have lived._

She took a shuddering breath. “You think that’s a _comfort?_ ” she hissed through her teeth. “If I didn’t…If I didn’t kill him then, kill Ches, on that road, he died—”

“Peda saw—”

“—In the Mojave, by me, or by NCR, on that Dam.”

“You can’t say—”

“ _How the fuck do you know?_ ” she screamed, pulling away. “He’s _dead!_ He’s _dead_ , Ulysses.” Her chest was heaving, her throat too tight. “He’s dead,” again, choked. “He has to be. He has to.”

He didn’t reach out, helpless, hopeless, with an expression that cut to the quick. Ulysses slid off the bed, took the short step back to the couch. “Might be,” he said, just loud enough to make her fix an eye on him. “Whatever happened, after that road…unforgiving. No way to say what happened.”

Adal wiped her face on the back of her hands, shaking as she picked up the wire brush and made no move to use it. “Call that an apology?”

“Why should—” He looked away, anger overtaking the pain. “No hand in this, Courier. Leave it to—”

“Not in this one, right,” she said, picking up part of the gun and putting it back down, aimless, unable to focus. “What about the things you _can_ apologize for?”

He pressed his lips thin—but wouldn’t look her in the eye. She laughed, a single harsh bark. “Tell me,” she said. “Say it. Dead sober and raw as we are now, tell me you were wrong. That you played me, _hurt_ me, when you brought me back to that place, and tried to call it good.”

He wouldn’t, couldn’t look at her.

“You ain’t said a word on it since we cut this open, gonna say that ain’t guilt?”

“I…” She saw him swallow, looking somewhere at the floor, hands fisted on his knees.

“What? You what?” Adal held her hands open, waiting. “You called me to the Divide, so you could _punish_ me for things I could barely change the course of. Something I already bled for, made me lose _one more_ friend there. _That_ is what you did.”

He didn’t look up.

There were tears in her eyes. “Why do you still hate me for it?”

Ulysses straightened, facing her. He took a breath, eyes closed as he began, “I—”

The door opened.

“I’ve got news,” Lucia said, backing into the room, glancing up and down the hall. She didn’t turn until she shut it. “I talked the High Priestess into meeting with…” She stopped short, looking from Ulysses to her, Adal’s armor hanging from her hand. “…Her?”

Adal cleared her throat. “When?”

“Tomorrow. Early,” Lucia said, taking in the gun on the bed and finally giving the window a suspicious look. “Guess that’s where your clothes went. Don’t come armed.”

“No,” Adal said, wiping her nose on a clean bit of rag. “I want him with,” she said, and Ulysses blinked.

“I’ll…see if I can swing it,” Lucia said, setting her armor down. “Listen, I wasn’t here. She’s trying to catch you off guard with this. And you, don’t be here when her healers show up in the morning, unless you want the Guard stationed _inside_ her room.”

“I’ll manage,” Ulysses said, nodding.

“Right.” Lucia scanned the hall again before slipping out. Adal caught the puzzled look on her face as the door clicked shut.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly though her nose. Her heart marginally slower, she looked at Ulysses. “What were you saying?”

He faced away, toward the door. His lips parted, ready to speak for a long moment, then stood. “I’ll pass it along to the men.”

Adal couldn’t stop him as he stepped over her, climbing out the window and dragging it shut behind.

She clenched her teeth on the tears, taking her anger out on the gun.


	15. Chapter 15

Ulysses was waiting outside a door when she staggered downstairs, duster on over her tunic and bandages, Fen at her elbow, a pair of Guards on his. She tried not to make a face at how he avoided her look, crutching up to the meeting room. “We set?”

“The High Priestess and her advisers are waiting on you, madam,” one of the Guards said, a hand on the latch. Adal nodded, and he pushed it open, letting her through first. “High Priestess Drusa Octavia, and her council. The Courier, from New Vegas, and her guard.”

The walls of the long, narrow meeting room were in better repair than most, the old paint scraped away to reveal dull gray drywall. The table was clean, the wood only slightly warped. Around it sat five or six priestesses, veiled, robes and stoles impeccable. The one at the head of the table caught her eye, red-robed rather than white, stole trimmed in gold. Her hands were clasped on the table, closed and serious, a richer black than even the polished wood. A Guard stood behind her, in a decanus’ helm.

She picked out Aquilina on her right hand. With her veil down, she gave no sign of distress, recognition—anything to indicate she recognized Ulysses standing at her shoulder.

The High Priestess waved a hand to the Guard at the door. “A chair, if you would, Attis. She’s injured.”

He drew one out, bowing his head before stepping back through the door. Adal muttered a thanks as she sat, still an arm’s reach from the table itself. She tried not to frown, feeling more on trial than part of a diplomatic meeting. “Thanks for meeting with me, Priestesses,” she said, skipping the _even though you didn’t want to_. “Where should we begin?”

“May we first express our pleasure at seeing you well?” the High Priestess said, tipping her head to her right. “Aquilina gave us the details of your stay in our infirmary. We hope your recovery will continue swiftly.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” _Get to the point!_ She folded her hands on the handles of her crutches, to keep from fidgeting. “I’m grateful for your help. But seeing as I’ll pull through, I’m a bit more concerned with the army on your doorstep.”

Some of the priestesses glanced to the head of the table, and Octavia raised a hand slightly, a quelling motion. “We have it in control, Domina. Your concern in our affairs is appreciated, but for now, we ask only for you to trust in our leadership.”

Adal didn’t blink. “So why bring me here, if you ain’t gonna deal? Ma’am.”

More glances—to Aquilina. Octavia raised her head slightly, and they settled. “Affairs of state may wait until you have healed.”

“Sound is, you can’t win this fight without me,” Adal said, and she heard Ulysses shift his weight behind her. “Ma’am. Council. You’re at stalemate with Venator, and he can resupply, find more men to fight for him. You can’t. You need someone to break this siege.”

Veiled, she couldn’t tell if the High Priestess was frowning, her voice neutral as she said, “We are aware of our situation. And a lone woman cannot hope to stand against Venator.”

Adal nodded. “Good thing I already called in my Securitrons, then. They’ll be here in a little over two days.”

The council muttered to each other, and she heard a breath from Ulysses. Octavia raised her hand. “Explain.”

“They’re on their way, with my Limitanei,” Adal said. “Ain’t telling you all my secrets, ma’am. But I intend to stop Venator here, even if you won’t.”

She was still a moment, turning her head fractionally to Aquilina. She seemed impassive, face hidden, but Octavia must have seen something in it. “There are nations who would call that an act of war, Courier.”

“I’m trying to save your sorry—lives,” Adal said. “You got my _word_ I will not turn them on your city, your people. There’s a lot I got to offer you, if we can ally over this. Tech, trade, power, weapons—”

“From a source that has already committed multiple coups in the past year,” the High Priestess said, standing. “Thank you for your time, Courier, but I think this meeting is over. We will host you and your men until you are healed and our situation has resolved, but we will not allow your army within sight of our city. Turn them back, or face the consequences.”

“You’ll all of you die when Venator runs over those walls of yours,” Adal said, staying where she sat. “Fuck’s sake, I’m trying to _help_ you.”

“That is quite enough.” Octavia stepped away from her chair, and the Guard opened the far door. “Turn them back, Domina. We will tolerate no other outcome.”

They filed out. Adal made no move to leave, even as the near door opened, the Guard clearing his throat. “I ain’t doing those stairs yet,” she said, not looking at him.

“Adal…”

Fen hovered at the door. She nodded to her and said, “Can I have a minute?”

Fen sighed, but gestured for the Guard to close it. Twisting to look over her shoulder, she said to Ulysses, “What’d you get from that?”

He opened his mouth, shut it as he shook his head.

“Jesus, I don’t get what they’re…” She ran her fingers through her hair, patted her cigarette pocket but didn’t open it. “Aquilina.”

“Yes.”

“She’s pulling strings here.” Adal turned again when he didn’t reply, frowning. “Can you at least stand where I can see you?”

He sighed as he did, stepping around her with little grace. “What _possessed_ you, forcing their hand?”

“Possessed me?” she said, putting a hand to her chest. “Trying to _fix_ this mess! They’re trapped here, and—”

“Just as the Limitanei,” said, waving a hand. “Ahead of your sense. Think they’ll call you equal for trading Venator’s army with yours?”

“How the hell else we getting rid of him?” She sat back, taking a slow breath. “Look. Alright. We’re both pissed, and—”

“—lost any trust you might have gained—”

“They can trust me when I very graciously _don’t_ start shooting them. Look, can you settle—”

“—Work against us for _spite_ , and nothing more.” He was breathing hard, shook his head again as he looked away.

“Aquilina?” she said again, more quietly. He nodded. “You know her?”

Ulysses had his back to her, leaning his hands on the table. “Who she is now? Been here once, since…” Another shake of the head. “Anything of what she was, _she_ is the power here, not their High Priestess. And won’t look kindly to you, for dealing with me.”

“Hell of an assumption for a woman you ain’t seen in years,” Adal said. “What is she then, old flame?” He looked over his shoulder at her, annoyed, and she waved a hand. “Look, if whatever you had is gone, we got bigger things to worry about than her—”

“She did not gain her post through sitting back, Courier,” he said, turning fully. “Woman has every reason to spite me, through you—”

“Jesus, you don’t even know her at this point. You got feelings for her, work it the fuck out and—”

“Feelings? From you, with sons you still want to mother?”

There was no breath in her lungs. “You step right the fuck off.”

“Admitted to me before, all you’ve done wrong was for _charging in_ with no thought to consequences, like here, like the Walker, the Divide—”

“Don’t you—”

“—Think that desert won’t be the next? One more nation finding itself, and your neglect to kill it?”

“You gonna throw that at me here? Now?” Adal fumbled at her crutches to stand, dropping one in her haste. “My god, you know what that was _like_ , walking that graveyard because _you_ couldn’t let it go?”

“It was _necessary_ ,” he spat. “Tell me, _Courier_ , your mistakes in the Divide could have been left there without you _facing_ them!”

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me that made me _better_ ,” she hissed. “That it’s _you_ who did, what, the hard work getting sober, fighting for folks I barely knew, putting my ass on the line for them as I faced the whole fucking Legion all but alone? And the Divide? You think I didn’t remember that place? The names of the folk who lived there? The stupid shit I had _no_ control over? Think I didn’t grieve—”

“Think you needed the reminder of _failure_ ,” he said, face thunderous, a stranger’s. “Keep it from happening again.”

“All you fucking did was _hurt_ me.”

He froze, expression shifting to something she couldn’t place. “Make it the last useful thing I did for this world, make sure you understood _consequences_. Meant to die there for it, but you had the gall to try and _forgive_.”

Her hands shook, white knuckled on her crutch. She could barely whisper, “What makes you think I ever forgave you?”

Ulysses swayed back, as though the words carried their own force. He made as if to speak, but turned away.

Adal laughed, a quick, harsh bark. “Hell of a lot of men in my life turned on me,” she said, stooping after the other crutch. “Call me fool for mourning my sons, even when they ain’t dead? This Venator…More I hear of him, more he sounds like Ches.” She fit the crutch back under her arm, facing away from him. “Boy had it in him to be great. Probably took to the Legion like breathing, big kid with anger to burn. Found somewhere he fit, when the Walker’d always marked him different.”

She made it one step towards the door when he said, “Have to kill him, Courier. You know that.”

Adal rested her hand on the latch, head hung. “He’s already dead to me.”

***

The Temple gardens were expansive, taking up lots and courtyards between the buildings. Some were still in use, rows of crops tended by…not slaves, according to Fen, but Adal doubted a change in name made any difference. Other fields, on the edges, had been turned over to bare dirt, set up with tents with men of the Order milling about. The two groups seemed to have hit on an uneasy truce, the men never stepping outside of their plots, the ones from the Temple never going within ten feet of the boundary.

Priestesses moved among them, here and there, watching the others work. Any one of them might have been in that room, on that council…

 _Woman has every reason to spite me, through you…_ Adal stared out at the rows of crops and herbs, unseeing. _She fought against. Saw the lies Vulpes fed us…_

What had she gotten herself into?

“Are you alright?”

Adal shrugged. “Leg’s still sore. Just gotta rest.” Fen said nothing. Adal glanced over, saw the look she was getting, and sighed. “How much did you hear?”

“You weren’t quiet,” she said, looking away. “I only know a few rumors about him, Adal, but serving as a Legionary does things to people. I’ve seen it.”

Se felt her heart clench as she said, “I have to kill him, either way.”

“ _What_?”

“Doesn’t matter if he might have been…” She frowned at Fen, who had nearly doubled over, a hand to her chest. “Are you alright?”

“I’m talking about _Ulysses_.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

It took her a moment to straighten up, taking a few deep breaths. “Who are you planning to murder, now?”

“Venator,” Adal said. She looped her arms though her crutches, leaning on them. “Peda said Ches had…” She shook her head, looking away. “Tell me any son of mine wouldn’t go on to be great.”

“Adal…”

“You keep records here.” She couldn’t quite look over. “Do you—”

“Don’t ask me that.” She did look up then, and Fen couldn’t meet her eyes. “Adal, I’m sorry. _Anything_ I tell you would hurt, even if it was that I knew nothing. So I won’t. I’m sorry.”

She studied her face as she turned away, the worry lines in her face more pronounced. So that was it. After this long, she was going to have to…

“I’m more worried about the men _inside_ our walls, at the moment,” Fen said.

“Ulysses?” Fen nodded, still not looking at her. “He’s…We’re all keyed up, right now.” Her own words came back to her, and she winced at herself, him looking at her like a stranger, an enemy. “A lot of things to work through.”

“If you say so,” Fen said. “You know him better than me.”

Adal gave her a sidelong look, but let it go. “Peda got back late, this morning.”

“Yes. We talked for most of the night.” Fen smiled, softly. “Did she say how I almost hit her with a chair, picking the lock into my room?”

Adal snorted, pinching her nose to keep it down. Fen didn’t bother, laughing aloud, making heads come up in the gardens. “We have so many years to catch up on…” She shook her head, smile fading to something bittersweet. “We only just started, but there’s nothing in this world that is going to part us again.”

“Not if I can help it,” Adal said. “You say the word, Fen, you have anything you need from me.”

She raised her eyebrows at her name, glancing nervously at the nearest workers. The Guard tailing them, standing further down the wall, didn’t show any sign of hearing. “Atella. For now, please,” she said, with a brief touch on Adal’s arm.

“Sorry.” She stared out over the gardens again. The city blocked the sight of the walls, but as her eyes drifted up, Adal could see the haze of many campfires drifting into the sky. It was calm here, quiet, easy to forget an army lay on their doorstep…

Fen—Atella—raised her hand to point. Adal followed it to a young woman kneeling next to a row of seedlings, with a jet black braid down to her waist. She had a quiet, meditative look to her as she worked down the row, raking her hands through the earth. At a distance, Adal could just make out the shape of her brow, the set of her cheekbones, some memory of Peda in them.

She watched her work, digging barehanded to lift plants out with their roots intact, thinning the rows and saving the seedlings to replant, face neutral and serene. “You gonna introduce them?” she asked, voice low.

“I can’t just…” Fen raised her hands, helpless. “Peda can’t leave the room, and getting Celsa up there? We will eventually, but…”

Adal stared at her a moment. With a sigh, she stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled.

“What are you _doing_ ,” Fen hissed.

Heads were raised again, including Celsa’s. Adal beckoned to her, and she glanced over her shoulder, as though hoping someone else would reply. When no one did, she stood, brushing dirt from her skirt and fussing with her rolled-up sleeves.

“You’re already friends,” Adal said. “What could go wrong?”

Fen said nothing, glancing away as the woman approached. “Good morning, madam, Atella,” she said with a slight bob. “How may I assist you?”

“I was wondering if you could solve an argument, miss…?”

“Celsa,” she said, with another faint curtsy, hands clasped in front of her.

“Miss Celsa. We were wondering, what makes for a better healing powder?” Adal sat back and gestured to Atella, who wrung her hands tighter. “My cousin says it’s one-to-one, broc and xander, but I think it’s better with an extra xander.”

“Oh, well.” Celsa fussed with one of her cuffs again. “A lot of people think you need the extra root, but that’s really only if it’s been over-dried, they lose a little potency then. One fresh root to a flower, is all that’s needed, really.” She ducked her head a little, apology.

“Damn. Alright. Well F…Atella says you know your stuff, so I guess I’m outnumbered,” Adal said, rubbing her chin. From the corner of her eye, she saw Celsa mouth the word _Cousin?_ and Fen’s frantic waving of hands.

Celsa looked between the two of them, shifting her weight. “Are you, actually…?”

“The Courier?” Adal said. Celsa dropped her chin, shrugging. “I am, miss. Call me Adal.” She sat back a little looking up at her. “You got _tall_ , eh, girlie? I never had a daughter, but—”

“She also needs to go rest,” Fen said, almost tripping over her words. “She’s injured, and…”

“Oh! Yes,” Celsa said, bewildered. “Can I help you up?”

“That would be lovely,” Adal said, groaning as she levered herself up on her crutches. “Fen’s so short I’d end up leaning on that Guard following us, and—”

“Fen?”

“Atella,” Adal said hastily. The Guard glanced over, unreadable.

“Actually, you should get back to your work, Celsa,” Fen said, brooking no argument. She dropped her veil as she turned towards the Guard “I’d hate for you to be out late to make it up.”

Her face fell, but she smoothed it away. “Are you sure? It would only take a moment to…”

“We can manage, thank you.”

They got to the door, out of earshot, before Adal said, “That ain’t fair to either of them.”

Fen held the door open, other hand hovering in case she struggled with the step up. “Please, just…slow down,” she said, low enough that only Adal could hear. “There’s too much happening right now. Once things are over…”

_…Charging in, with no thought to consequences…_

“And if this’s the only chance they get?” she asked. “Fen, _over_ might mean one or both of ‘em’s dead. I ain’t letting that happen.”

Fen rested her hand on her shoulder as they walked, a slow, painful step at a time. “That’s not _going_ to happen,” Fen said. “I trust in you enough. That will never happen.”

***

Ulysses stared down at the countertop, leaning on his elbows. Enough happening here, without her lighting more fires under them…

“Is she recovering well, then?”

Seneca leaned back on the bar, looking over at him. His Limitanei had withdrawn into the bedrooms, Fulvius resting, and Ulysses could hear cards being discreetly shuffled in the room with the older two. “Walking,” he said, refolding his arms.

He nodded, staring back out the window. “What action will she take, with her army approaching?”

Ulysses sighed, sitting straighter. “No predicting that. Even me.”

A snort. “May need to act on our own. Have you any plans for doing so?”

“Not yet.” Too many angles to have a plan, yet. Her machines, the Temple, Venator, his Praetorian—

_—dragged across the floor of the burning building, lungs aching, or was it in the ruins of the Divide, under tons of rubble—_

Seneca was saying something, low regret in his voice, but Ulysses couldn’t parse it, couldn’t focus. When he finished, Ulysses managed a nod and sound of agreement, hoped it would be enough. Divide was in his head, that grave—and her anger for it, that settled like a clawed thing in his chest, _What makes you think I ever forgave you…?_

He had to press his hands flat on the counter, keep himself from reeling, the cold plastic of it barely enough of a distraction. He felt sick to his stomach, had to breathe slow and deep to keep it down.

“Docabeza.”

The word was meaningless, just noise, as Ulysses tried to focus. “My tribe,” Seneca said, looking out the window. “We surrendered to the Legion, you know. I suppose you might, even; it was southern Arizona, not long before the Twisted Hairs were betrayed.”

There was no judgment in his voice, just mild observation. “It wasn’t a violent thing, not for us,” Seneca went on, when Ulysses said nothing. “And it was…easy, to imagine what we were doing was right. For once, we were powerful. We may have been forced to give up our _gabán_ , our names, our land…But we were part of something more.” His mouth twisted. “We… _I_ was able to justify it all, with the lies we were fed. Believed them.”

“Easier bait, for smaller tribes,” Ulysses said, not sure where he was going. “Show them power, where they had none.”

“Hm.” Seneca nodded. “And then, the Mojave. The Dam. It all should have ended there.”

“Heard the argument,” Ulysses said. “Disagree with it. Should have ended sooner.”

He snorted. “Knowing what I know now…?” Seneca hadn’t looked over as they spoke, still gazing out at the window. “Kiowa. Kiowa, when we got word of Caesar. We had been sent by Venator to capture the tribe there…You heard about the Colorado campaign, by now. We needed to replenish our numbers. If it meant keeping some of them alive, even as Legionaries…Bitter comfort. But as we had the tribe there cornered, a runner came from our main camp.”

He waved a hand, describing some scene beyond Ulysses’ sight. “Caesar had been killed. We were to wipe out the tribe there, down to the last man, woman, and child, before returning to Denver.

“I knew, then. There would be no more Legion, not without its false god.” The muscles in his jaw worked, teeth clenched. “I had to kill him. Barely more than a boy. But he drew on me, and would not back down. Two of my own men, who saw it happen. Men I had served with for years, trusted. Led, until that point; more brothers than ones I lost in Docabeza. To the rest, I told there would be no more dead children. They could go back to Venator, if they wished, or follow me…Wherever. But no more dead children.”

He turned to Ulysses, eyes still down. “Twenty years. Twenty years in Caesar’s Legion, and that’s the place I…go back to, these days. Twenty years of blood, and slavery, and suffering, and all I can remember anymore in those dark moments, is that boy bleeding out in the dust.”

_Canaan, corpses on the cliffside, White Legs laughing as they charged through the burning town, a bed covered with blood and in it—_

“Never be free of it,” he managed at last.

“Do we deserve to be?” Seneca said, facing forward again.

 _No._ But the words wouldn’t come again, that insidious, traitor voice whispering, _You don’t deserve…_

“There are no making amends for the things I have done. _We_ have done,” Seneca said. “We fought to make the world…better. Or at least, lied to ourselves we were. Now…Now is a chance to change. To serve something, someone, who may not…seek to help us, but the next generations. Set right what we have done wrong.” And more quietly, “And we cannot do that if we are dead.”

Ulysses bowed his head, hands clasped. Adal, who only came away stronger for all she had survived, spat in the face of devils as she fought to keep her people safe. Aquilina, she was now. A woman who would have walked a road harder than he, in the Legion, and now stood with the Temple and every soul in it part of her mantle, under her care, as she had always done.

“No more dead children,” he said, low.

“The only future we can hope for,” Seneca said. He cocked his head, listening, and said louder, “Who's winning?”

The silence was broken by the frantic scrabbling of cards being gathered, the jingle of coins being swept up. Seneca snorted, and even Ulysses found a faint grin somewhere.

_Do we deserve…?_

He did not, perhaps. But there were more lives at stake here than his.


	16. Chapter 16

Ulysses had drifted back to his room, ostensibly maintaining his things. He could hear the Limitanei gathered around the table in the common area. “So a king changes the suit?”

“No, that’s queens,” Varro said. “Kings double the amount of the last card.”

He heard Seneca grumble, and the riffle of a deck of cards. “Fine, start again…”

The door opened. The men started to rise, settled again as Marius closed it behind himself. “News?” Ulysses said.

“News,” he said. “I’ve been running for our agents in Venator’s camp. They’re preparing for a final assault on the city.”

Ulysses leaned on the doorframe of the bedroom. The Limitanei glanced at each other, sitting around the table with a spread of cards and coin. Marius stood with his arms folded. “How will the Temple respond?” Seneca said, still seated.

Marius frowned, jaw clenched. “I spoke with Lucia…”

***

Lucia perched on the arm of the couch, a cautious arm’s length from Peda. “They’re going to use you to bargain with Venator,” she said, voice flat. “He wants you alive. They want to leverage that, try and buy mercy for the Temple.”

Adal rubbed her eyes. “And let me guess, you’re not supposed to be telling me this.”

“No. They’ll imprison you outright, if they knew I came here,” Lucia said.

Peda leaned forward. “So what the hell, girlie? What makes you so ready to get locked up with us?”

Lucia shook her head. “I’ve been out in the world, since before you fought on the Dam,” with a nod to Adal. “The High Priestess hasn’t. She doesn’t understand the risks, or how…savage men like Venator are. I’d bet my life he’s ready to go back on whatever deal he makes.”

***

“Most of the Council hasn’t dealt with a Legionary in at least ten years,” Marius said. The men had stood, listening, and he kept his head down, frowning as he spoke. “They’ve forgotten that the Legion will win at any cost, even treachery. Venator in particular has no honor, or compunctions. He’s desperate to win this war.”

“So if they give her up, it will be for nothing…” Seneca said, glancing at Ulysses.

“And we lose the Mojave,” Ulysses finished. “Her machines are on their way. How will Venator react?”

Marius lifted his head, grim. “He’ll be thrilled.” Ulysses tipped his head, and Marius stared back. “Venator has _no_ inhibitions. Pragmatism, he calls it—Caesar’s Legion lost the Dam because it refused to change. He wants her alive to have access to those Securitrons.”

One of the men swore under his breath. “He could make his army agree?” Ulysses asked.

***

“He has his false godling,” Lucia said, shrugging. “If his Legion can swallow that lie…? And after such a catastrophic loss in the Mojave, they’re hungry for victory. They’ve broken a dozen smaller laws that Caesar enacted, by now, if it means even a small gain.”

“His Praetorian’s son,” Adal said. Lucia raised her eyebrows, and tried to quash the motion just as quickly. Adal pulled a paper from under her pillow, passing it to her. “You’re blackmailing him with the girl, then?”

“Do you read Latin?” Lucia asked, looking it over.

Adal glanced at Peda, who gave a faint shake of her head. “Word or two,” Adal said.

“We’ve tried to. Unsuccessfully,” Lucia said, setting it aside. “Calidus is a Legionary. He’s not interested in his children, especially a girl.”

“And the boy? Don’t tell me he just _gave_ him to Venator.”

“We can’t be sure on that count.” Lucia folded her hands on a knee. “His wife was our only informant in his circle, but we haven’t been able to contact her since Venator had her isolated.”

Adal sat up in bed, staring at her bandaged leg. “Tell me about Aquilina. What part’s she playing in this?”

“She was one of the most vocal about alliance with Vegas.” She shrugged again, at their look. “But she’s outnumbered. I think she’s on to something, honestly. We’re a lone city-state, in the middle of hostile territory. We could use an ally like you.”

“Didn’t get that impression,” Adal said.

“She plays things close to the chest,” Lucia said. “But we don’t have much time. If they want to stop Venator before he starts his assault…”

Adal swung her legs off the bed. “Peda, hand me my clothes. And you, find me a brace, or something…”

***

Lucia went out ahead, glancing at the gaps between the buildings. In the dark, Adal barely saw her beckon, but Peda stepped forward, supporting her elbow. The metal brace on her leg creaked, but took her weight, and she limped towards the apartment complex.

Marius was loitering outside, and knocked on the window as she approached. It opened, and hands reached to help her step through. A couple of the Limitanei murmured, “Salve, Domina,” as they helped her sit.

The others climbed through, the apartment living room crowded. Only a few lights were working, leaving the lot of them half-lit, grim shadows standing over her. Adal composed herself, taking a breath as they turned to her, Ulysses lurking somewhere behind Seneca. “Assume we’re all on the same page?”

“We are, Domina,” Seneca said, hand resting casually on his machete. “We need to act tonight.”

Adal nodded, mouth set. “Ulysses,” she said. He looked up, wary, but the Limitanei moved so he could step up. “You used to be Frumentarii, you’re a courier. Venator gonna respect that?”

“Might,” he said, not looking at her. “Bending the Legion’s laws to suit himself…But might respect immunity.”

“I want you to take a message to him,” she said, trying to look him in the eye. He met her gaze only briefly. “Tell him I want to solve this personally. Single combat, like in Circle Junction.”

Every eye went to her leg, and she sighed. “Yes, I noticed, thanks. But he doesn’t know. I just wanna stall him, keep him from busting into the city before the Securitrons get here. We got about two days before they reach us, and if he moves before that, we’re toast. Just get him talking, slow him down.”

“And if he asks you there, before your machines arrive?” Ulysses said, still avoiding her gaze.

She shrugged. “Then we wing it, I don’t know. Whatever we can to stall.” She looked to Marius. “You have a way out to their camp.”

“I do,” he said. “I’ve worked enough with our informants in the siege camp, I can bring him to Venator without a fight, but I’ll need Lucia’s assistance to get through our wall.”

“Do it,” she said. “Seneca, I want your men to accompany them. If this goes to hell, I want _all_ of you coming back. Hear me?”

“Of course, Domina,” he said, back straight, gaze level. “It will be my pleasure.”

“Head out, get ready,” she said. Marius nodded, going to the door. As they left, she said, “Peda, I want you with me. But can…?”

Peda looked from her to Ulysses, still lingering. “Oh, fine,” she said at last, sticking a leg out the window. “I’ll be here, just shout.”

She slid it down behind her, and Adal glanced at the door. Seneca stood beside it, holding it open. “I take responsibility for what happened in the tunnels, Domina. Fully. Quintus was new to my men, since we joined the Limitanei, and I should not have put so much trust in him.” He bowed his head. “I cannot undo these mistakes, but know that no more will be made.”

“I hold you to it,” she said, level. “You got me this far, Seneca. Get us all home again. That’s an order.”

He saluted, bowing more deeply, and departed. Adal looked up at Ulysses, not quite looking back at her, face half-shadowed. “This why you asked me here?” he said, voice low. “A sacrifice? Scapegoat?”

Adal studied him, the lines around his mouth drawn tight, eyes heavy. “I asked you to come with me because I needed your help,” she said. “Because I never thought it’d go this far. And because you’d been getting _quiet_ on me.” He didn’t react, gaze shifting to a point over her shoulder. “Last time you started getting _quiet_ , I dragged you out of a pile of rubble on death’s door.”

He turned away, putting his face in profile, said nothing.

“Thought I’d try my damnedest to get you out of that hell. I can’t do that again, my man, I…” Adal had to stop and swallow. “I know what that was. Don’t _ever_ make me face that again.”

“No change of heart, asking me to walk into an enemy camp?” He still wouldn’t face her, arms folded. “Lanius had a sense of honor. Venator’s none. Sending me to him?”

“Because you’re the toughest son of a bitch I know. If anyone’s gonna fight their way out of there, it’s you,” she said; hard to put warmth in it now, but she tried.

Nothing from him, no movement, no words.

Adal looked at her hands, fingers locked on her lap. “It mighta been spite, that first time. In that Temple. You’d won. By god, you’d won, you’d made me walk that road just as you intended, but I wasn’t givin’ you the satisfaction of ending it how you wanted.” He was looking at her now, sidelong. She found a crooked smile somewhere. “Then I came back. Started talking. Guess you grew on me.

“And…we been through a lot. Things that hurt a person, push them to be…people they aren’t. Ones they don’t want to be. I can…” She shook her head, still facing the floor. “I can almost understand. Almost. Gets to a point, hurting yourself, someone else, _anything_ seems better than just living through the hell that’s goin’ on in your head.

“But I never forgot. You were ready to kill a hell of a lot of people, not just me. And you played me to do it. You pulled my strings to watch me hurt and called it _good_ , and I ain’t ever let that go. So I just…” She shrugged, fingers still laced. “Pushed it back. Pushed it back, and kept going forward. Same as I did with the Walker. Same as the Divide. Same as with a hundred other little things. Just kept…going. However I could, forgot what I could to go on living, squeeze in one more day for myself. Now…now it’s all caught up.”

Not quite facing her still, but his shoulders had relaxed, his frown a little softer. Adal shook her head. “I ran. From so much. Been running so long I almost don’t know how to stop. But it’s time to reckon, if I want any rest, any peace, f’I want to go that one more day. I got too much to face right _now_ and in my future, to do it with the past clawing at my back.”

She looked up at him, clear in the eye. “Whether or not you do it with me…?”

He blinked, eyes falling. The silence was deafening, only a soft sigh of wind coming through the crack in the window.

“None of this’s been easy on you, either,” she said, quieter still. “I know. You need help, more’n I can give, when I’m hung up on all else. I ain’t…” She let out a long sigh. “I ain’t been there for you, the way I ought to’ve. Nor you me, but I ain’t helped that any. I want that to change.”

“Hurts, letting someone _in_ ,” looking away still.

“We’re no strangers to hurt,” she said. “Some things always will. Rather have you to hang on to after, and you to me, than face it alone.”

Silence.

“We can bury this here, or not, Ulysses,” she said, gently, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. “My man, I’m sitting here with my heart in hand. Your call what you do with it.”

He took a long, slow breath, not facing her, still staring at some point on the floor. And softly, so softly she nearly missed it, “Don’t deserve you.”

“Knock that off,” she said, trying to catch his eye. “F’you didn’t deserve me, I wouldn’t have you.”

A flash of a smile, or a fleeting grimace.”Balance of it…Only hurt you. Caught in my own pain, couldn’t see to yours.” Another breath, and Adal waited, let him put his words in order. “Broke me, losing that place. Left part of itself…” He gestured to his head, a haunted look in his eyes. “Kept me from seeing the _now._ More ways than one. Lost sight of a future…All there was left was pain. For myself, you.”

He hung his head a moment. Adal kept her hands folded on her lap, searching his face.

“Now…?” He looked up, meeting her eyes. “Walked the same roads. Couriers, and before that, as tribe…Met the Legion in their lands and suffered for it. All that followed.” Turning to her, Ulysses held out his hands. She took them as he knelt, his head bowed. “Regretted every _breath_ since I found the Bull on our borders. Betrayed my people, in believing them. Bringing them. A hundred betrayals to myself, since, to who I was…who I loved.”

He shook his head, not looking up. “Woke from it, long enough to see. For the _regret_ to grow like thorns. Take me over. Came to the Divide, for absolution, for death and a clean beginning…” He looked up, tears in his eyes. “And what finally cut my heart from me, was to know it was _Adal_ who suffered for it.

“The Courier…The Courier I hunted, hated…Never existed.” His voice was soft, lost, and she held his hands tighter. “Made them of myself, of ghosts and shadows, someone to kill and come away…cleansed. Lifetime of wrongs set right; Dry Wells, New Canaan...More. Both of us laid in that grave, if you could not best it, for the sake of…” He shook his head. “Sake of my pain.” He reached up, smoothing a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Deserved none of it, Adal. You, who have _built_ where so much has been broken. Have never deserved you…” He looked down, away. “Nor do I deserve your forgiveness.”

She stroked at his hair, rested a hand on his shoulder. “No. I can’t forgive you.”

He sighed, long and lingering, the weight of decades in it. “Better we part here, then. I’ll still serve Vegas, the Mojave, the nation there…”

“Now hang on.”

“…Best hope, for the wasteland, what you bring to it. What solace we’ve found—”

“And I—”

“—hoped it had meant more to you, than—”

“Wait a hot _second_.”

“—die at Venator’s hands, know it was for a good—”

Adal sighed, reaching into her pack. He recoiled as she unsheathed the knife, ramming it hard enough into the table that coins rattled to the floor. “Marry me right now, you son of a bitch.”

He stared at it, mouth hanging open. The blade was heavy, a fighting knife, with a clipped point and single edge. “Handle’s a Divide deathclaw horn,” she said, filling the silence. “Supposed to be something I hunted with my own, but I didn’t have my knife back by then. Cheated a bit, for the sake of somethin’ with a little more meaning.

“I ain’t gonna forgive you,” she said, taking his hand and keeping him from standing. “I can’t sit here and say I’ll forget the things you’ve done. But I _understand_. I understand, enough that you're hurting, that you _been_ hurting so long you don't know how to stop. And I ain’t letting you face this alone, not another day.” She cupped his face, leaning down to kiss him. “We ain’t got time to discuss this all,” she said, as he pressed his hands over hers, holding her there. “But promise me. Promise me, with this, that you’ll come back to me, safe and whole. That you’ll come back so we can figure this out, when there’s no war breathing down our necks.”

Adal let her forehead rest on his, closing her eyes and letting tears spill. “You are the first goddamn person in a long time I felt I could call equal. In the roads we walked, the pain we’ve known, and all we’ve seen…and in the things we hold dear. _Come back to me,_ so we can find out what that means.”

His breath caught as he tried to speak, and she wiped his face dry with a thumb. “More wrongs to right than breath in me,” he said, voice rough. He fished in the pocked of his duster, over his heart. “But we can begin here.”

He stayed kneeling, but sat taller, reaching out. She half-closed her eyes as he tugged at a strand of hair near her ear. “Moved forward, Adal. I stayed in the past. A promise, that we meet somewhere between…somewhere we might find peace.” He lowered his hands, stroking her cheek. “More living between us than the Divide…Our peoples. Whole of the Mojave. Everyone whose lives we have touched. I _will_ return to you, and make this right.”

Adal reached up to feel. He hair had been pulled into a simple, three-stranded braid, and the bead on it was warm, smooth wood, carved into a tight spiral. She glanced at the copper wire in his, almost identical in size. “Kept it safe,” he said, hands in hers. “Tradition to give you one of my own…” He shook his head, smiled faintly. “She would approve.”

Adal smiled with him, couldn’t find the words. Instead, she reached out, holding him to her, breathing him in. As he pulled away, she brushed at the rifle casing in his hair, then wrenched the knife from the table. “Would have been the first step to adopting you, properly,” she said, sheathing it. “Vouched for you. Started teaching you our ways.” She handed it to him, and he stood, finding where to hang it from his belt. She stood with him, holding his duster for balance. “So Adal, out of Jia and Ouray, and…?”

He hesitated, then pulled her close, his lips by her ear. He whispered a word—a name, and she held him a moment longer, murmuring it back. “Gonna take getting used to,” she said, drying her eyes as she pulled away.

“Might call you Courier, time to time,” he said, touch lingering, hand still in hers. “Need to join the others,” he said, regret in his voice.

“Yeah,” she said, but didn’t let him go. Her heart sank. He was going to… “Venator. If he’s…” He stroked a bit of her hair back, waiting. She shook her head, voice rough. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Ulysses pulled her close, placing a kiss on her forehead as she tried to compose herself. At last, she managed to nod again, gesturing to the door and following him out. The apartment’s common room was empty, except for Marius, lingering by the entrance. Ulysses gave him a nod, passing him as he left.

Adal paused, a hand on the door. Marius looked back, and she saw him spot the braid, something unreadable in his expression. She watched him steadily—a serious young man, one she barely knew. “Thank you,” she said, not sure what else to offer.

“It is my duty,” he said, but his eyes flicked away. He almost reached for the door, but hesitated. “I’ll bring them back.”

“I know,” she said, not quite looking at him. Then, all in a rush, “They said you volunteered. To come to the Limitanei. To find me.”

“I…” He ducked his head. “Yes. I had heard your name. I knew…knew I was more valuable as bait to you, than anywhere else.”

Hollow words, with his eyes somewhere on the ground. “It’s alright,” she said, gently. “This is…a lot. You got years of hell on your back. More’n you deserve. I’m glad I found you again, even after…” Adal shrugged. “I’m sorry. For so much. But I hope that won’t stand between us.”

He opened his mouth just to close it again, not looking up.

“Marius,” quietly. “You’re not…not my Alam, anymore. But you are _a good man_ , despite everything.” He looked up, just for a flash, and his expression made her reach out. “We’ll never had what we might’ve, those lost years…But I would be proud to call you an ally. And a friend.”

He took her hand, slowly, but squeezed it tight. “Come back safe,” she said.

Marius swallowed hard, but nodded. “All of us will. I promise.”


	17. Chapter 17

Flagstaff proper didn’t seem to sleep. Lucia and Marius led them through dimly lit streets, lanterns hung from the streetlights with no electricity to them. There were still people about, civilians heading home or clustering on doorsteps, men of the Order patrolling or loitering outside their camps. None seemed to notice them, the citizens stepping aside from any man in armor, including them, and even the fighters not marking the Limitanei as out of the ordinary, in the dark.

They made it to the edge of the city without incident, the walls looming high, and Lucia slipped away. Caesar had never seen fit to build, where he could break, but the wall made up for it. Ulysses sized it up, all recovered brick and stone from surrounding structures, taller than the nearest buildings. There was a small gate through the outer wall, unguarded. Ulysses glanced aside, hearing voices. A pair of Order men had their backs to them, Lucia on their other side, speaking seriously with her arms folded. Ahead, Marius was already easing the gate open, beckoning the others through.

The wall was paces thick, the tunnel through it made of salvaged timber and sheet metal. Marius slipped past the Limitanei, knocking on the bulkhead door in a short pattern. The wheel on it spun, and a guard looked through the gap. “Marius,” he said, by way of greeting. He narrowed his eyes, looking past him. “Wait. They aren’t—”

“Orders,” he said, swinging the door wider.

The guard tried to stand between them and the exit, but the head of Varro’s sledge thumped into his chest. “You can’t just—”

“If you have questions, take it up with the High Priestess,” Marius said, brushing past.

Ulysses and the Limitanei filed out behind him. The land outside the wall was scraped bare, the half-moon showing bits of metal and building foundations standing like gravestones. The Limitanei brought their weapons to hand, stepping into the open, but at their head, Marius didn’t even look up. The Legion line ahead had tried to fortify, buildings just out of reach of most weapons on the wall, earth and timber shored up against their sides of the nearest buildings.

“Identify yourself!” someone shouted from a building, and Ulysses could just make out men watching them through the gaps in the wall.

“Marius,” he called, not breaking stride. “Bringing the Courier’s messengers to meet with the Legate.”

“Hold there.”

They slowed to a halt. With a scraping sound, a rough set of gates were pulled aside. “They know you,” Seneca said, just loud enough for Ulysses and Marius to hear.

He looked back at him and shrugged. “Acted as a messenger myself, the last few days. They remember me.”

“Expecting word from the Courier?” Ulysses asked.

“It’s always been a possibility.” He half-raised a hand before folding his arms, with no scarf to fidget with.

The Legionaries lining the gate waved them through, and the Limitanei formed up around Ulysses, Praetorians of his own. In the deep night, fewer people were active, but clusters of Legionaries watched them around fires and from doorways of buildings, some with their heads down, puzzling over weapons that would have set the old Caesar frothing. Some shapes in the dark took a moment to resolve, hunched and mechanical, with men swarming over them—artillery, Ulysses realized, as they passed a third. Venator had a way to breach the city’s walls.

And as they went, not a man called to them, none approached, none made a move to stop them, and Marius kept his head up in the lead.

The bit of ice in Ulysses’ gut grew colder. No one led, but him, and there was no hesitation in his stride.

“The Legate’s camp is through here,” Marius said, stopping outside a long, swaybacked building. “Seneca, you and your men will have to remain outside.”

The silence was so profound, Ulysses could almost hear bugs crawling in the rotten wood of the wall. Seneca straightened. “I’m old enough to be played a fool this far, boy, but no farther.”

“This is above you, Decanus,” Marius said. He glanced at the guards on the building’s gate. “I can’t go into it now, but trust me. We’ve worked too long to get this far.” He looked over. “Ulysses?”

Ulysses met the look, eye to eye and unflinching, searching his face for any clue. Without looking away, he nodded to Seneca. “Wait here.”

The Praetorians standing watch rolled up the bay door, letting he and Marius step into the building. The ceiling of the old warehouse had fallen in, and tents had been set up inside, the walls forming a compound within the camp. Slaves were building up the fire pit in the center of the floor, the men nearest it straightening to face them as they approached.

“The Courier’s courier?” one of them called, arms folded, leaning back on his heels. “Expected someone more…impressive.”

Ulysses didn’t let the dig slow him, sizing him up. His armor was metal, but instead of the scrap-salvage of a centurion, is was clean, a made thing rather than found, a golden emblem holding a cape at his shoulders. Though crested, the fletching in his helmet was black, a Legate’s mark. Not a large man, but fit, the thermic lance slung on his back apparently no burden; the Legion would have never have let a weak one rise to such a role. “Everything she’s done, and the best she can find is a broken-down Frumentarius? And a traitor to Caesar, no less.”

“The Courier sends her regards, Legate, grudging as they are,” Ulysses said, stopping when his guards tensed. “And a challenge.”

So close, his face was narrow, hawkish, colors hard to pick out in the firelight. Below the smug assurance in his grin, there was a hunger, something calculating…and nothing in it spoke to him of Adal, or Holloway. Venator raised his chin. “A challenge. How very like her. What do you think of this challenge, Marius?”

Marius had stepped aside, standing between them, impassive. “I think your response may be the deciding factor in this war, Legate.”

He snorted, and gestured at Ulysses to speak.

“The Courier would meet with you in single combat,” Ulysses said, keeping his voice neutral. “You or a chosen fighter, against her, to—”

“Decide the outcome of this war, to let the city go if I lose, have what’s left of the Legion dissolve if—” Venator made a tumbling gesture with a hand. “Boring. What else do you have?”

“You can’t hold this siege much longer,” Ulysses said, level. “Supply caravans only go so far. End this here, clean, and—”

“Or what?” Venator said. “What does she have to hang over my head but more empty threats?” He turned, watching him sidelong. “She would have come herself, if she could. Yet she sends a mouthpiece. Curious.”

“You do not claim the title of Caesar, yet wear his crest. Curious,” Ulysses said. “As any leader, she does what is necessary to maintain her power. You would know.”

A smile, and a knowing look as he met Ulysses’ eye. “Caesar is among us.” He touched the token on his chest, something dark settled into the details of it. “I merely direct his army until he is of such an age to command it, once again. But the old man was no fool, and neither am I. ”

“Legate, I would advise you to consider the offer,” Marius said, not looking at him. “If her army of machines does arrive here, you would be better off…”

“If they do, I would have exactly what I want,” Venator said. “I am glad you returned to us, Marius, but you are shortsighted as the next Legionary.”

“Has a shred of _sense_ , unlike most. True one would fight,” Ulysses said, letting contempt seep into it. “Not fall to machines, trickery, when his own strength fails.”

“An idiot like Lanius would put his neck on the block to save face, but this is new Legion, under a new Caesar.” His eyes flicked aside, over Ulysses’ shoulder. “I would like this to end, as you have said, _cleanly_. But I think it might take incentive for her to agree.”

He barely heard the footsteps behind him, didn’t have time to turn before the first blow landed. Ulysses tried to turn and defend, but another punch snapped his head side before he could orient on his attacker. For a moment, _up_ was a tenuous thing, but he straightened at the sight of a tall figure closing the gap.

Calidus caught his staff as he swung, locking his arm against it and yanking him in range, left fist connecting with his jaw. Unarmored left, not using the ballistic fist on the right, but hard enough he had to force himself to keep his feet. Ulysses countered the next blow, but he was sluggish, ears ringing, barely drawing a flinch from the Praetorian—who pulled a body blow with the side of his gauntlet, rather than strike full-force with the trigger plate.

Calidus, who had dragged him out of a burning building, left him with a stimpak in his chest.

Ulysses sold it, doubling up on himself before collapsing. He made a show of trying to rise once more, let Calidus kick at him, send him sprawling and clutching his side. Venator laughed as he pushed himself up, slow and spitting blood. “Old. Legionaries aren’t supposed to get _old_ , Frumentarius…I’m glad you left us.”

A fist closed on the collar of his duster, dragging him up. “Better we kill him now, Legate. My men have heard about this one, it’s safer we put him down.”

“He belongs to that woman, he’s more useful to us alive.”

“Saevus—”

“Venator, to you. Just tie him up or something, already.” Venator said, clearly annoyed as Ulysses looked up. “Hold him until daylight. Make sure the Courier can see his cross.” With a nod to Marius, “Send his men back to the city with my refusal. Tell her to come here, herself, or I will kill every man, woman, and child in that city to find her.”

“Yes, Legate.” Marius bowed his head, face blank.

Calidus nearly threw him forward, and Ulysses staggered, trying to keep his balance. On reflex, his hand went to a gun—but one of Venator’s Praetorians wrenched his arm aside, another of them cutting through the sling on his SMG when it wouldn’t pull free. He took the knife from his belt, and Ulysses tried to snatch it back, biting back a sound from a blow to the face. His staff was already gone, lost somewhere in Calidus’ attack, and they marched him forward, into a tent.

He shook his head to clear it and regretted it immediately, the pain enough to hold him still as they lashed him to a crossbar—not a cross, not yet, but standing and loose enough to breathe. The one with his weapons laid them on a table, and the pair of lesser Praetorians took up position by the door. Calidus kept his back to Ulysses, turning over the knife.

“She expected that to work?” he said, holding it flat on his hand.

Ulysses’ head swam as he tried to find words, spat blood from where he’d bitten his cheek. “Legion’s different than the one I left.”

Calidus stared down at the blade, not seeming to hear. “It would be,” after a long moment.

He straightened, and the tent flap was pushed aside. Venator glanced at the knife in Calidus’ hand before looking at Ulysses. “You’re going soft on me, Cal. You hardly touched him.” Ulysses barely caught the half-step he took away from his Praetorian, how he kept him in the corner of his vision. “Mercy doesn’t suit you.” He waved a hand at the men on the door. “Dismissed.”

“Stay.” They paused at Calidus’ command. “I don’t trust this one, Legate. Better we keep eyes on him.”

“He’s one man,” Venator said. Not turning to his guards, he said, “Leave. Unless you think you can replace your leader here and now.”

Both of them glanced at Calidus, who nodded faintly. They saluted—to him, not the Legate with his back turned—and stepped out of the tent.

“Being a bit cautious, Cal,” Venator said, folding his arms. “And you didn’t do your best work on our courier…Matter of time before one of them finally does stand up to you.”

“This one has lives in him,” Calidus said, jamming the knife upright in the tabletop. “I can go all night if you wish, and still have him alive for morning.”

“You know your wife said something similar last night?” Ulysses saw Calidus glance away, his expression hidden, but Venator snorted. “I haven’t touched her. You know she’s never been my type?” No response, and Venator stepped around him, approaching to look Ulysses up and down. “Honestly. Just accept my offer, you could buy a pair of fresh ones to get over her with.”

“It is all in service to the Legion,” Calidus said, turning to watch him. “I won’t confuse my duty with bribes.”

For a moment, Ulysses could only stare, sure the blow to the head was throwing him. But so close, his first clear view of his face, and it was Holloway looking down at them, younger and stronger—and though they were lighter, with eyes he knew, a sharp focus behind them. He could see Adal in him, the same way they both held themselves, balanced and ready, in the tight-lipped frown as he bit back anger.

“You and sentiment,” Venator sneered, bringing him back to the moment. “What about you? Ulysses, isn’t it? All I want is our better days when people did as they were told…You’re old enough to remember them, tell me it wasn’t a simpler time.”

“Time’s nothing to do with it,” Ulysses said, voice slurred with the blood in his mouth. “If you question obedience…Might look to the one giving orders.”

Venator’s face twitched. Calidus shifted his weight. “Broken leg would keep him quiet.”

“He’d die faster on the cross, and he doesn’t deserve that mercy,” Venator spat, storming from the tent. “Don’t touch him. Give him as long as possible to suffer, up there.”

Calidus met Ulysses’ eyes, inclined his head, and stepped out after him.

***

Adal and Peda lingered in the apartment’s vestibule, waiting for Lucia. Peda cleared her throat. “So, did I really hear you, uh…”

Adal stared across at her, holding her cigarette aside. “You wanna keep that nose?”

She shrugged, one arm still folded. “I was just looking out for you,” Peda said, lisping on the ‘just’. “If he’d gotten, I don’t know…”

“You don’t trust him.”

“Why should I?”

Adal sighed, stopped herself from brushing at the bead as it bumped her cheek. “It’s complicated, Ped. But he’s solid. Trust me.” There was a light blinking on her Pip-boy, and he kept her arm up a moment, looking at it.

Footsteps approached the entrance, and they both straightened. The Guard who pulled it open got one foot through the door before freezing.

“The fuck you looking at?” Peda said.

“Keep walkin’,” Adal said, taking another draw of her cigarette.

Very slowly, he let the door close behind him, passing though the vestibule. They glared after him until he turned a corner. “First smart Legionary I’ve seen,” Adal said, dropping her cigarette butt to grind in under her boot. Pain shot through her leg as she shifted, and she could only glower down at it.

“You shouldn’t even be standing,” Peda said.

“Don’t tell me what I am,” Adal muttered.

She looked up as the door opened, and Lucia beckoned. “They’re through. You should get back to the Temple.”

“Only if it’s to get me to Aquilina,” Adal said, leaning on Peda. “She’s the important one here, and I’m done with games.”

Lucia didn’t look back as she led them across the grounds, and it took a long moment before she nodded. “I can try and arrange it,” she said. “Tomorrow morning, I can—”

“Now.”

She stopped at the corner of a building, looking back. “Waking someone up at midnight isn’t the best way to curry favor, you know.”

“I do know,” Adal said. “And if the High Priestess is gonna put my ass on the line as soon as she can? Get me to her.”

Lucia glanced ahead, checking the next clearing. She beckoned them along, stopping at the door to their building. “Look, she’s working this quietly. She’ll push back if the council tries to bargain with him, but—”

“She’s a healer,” Peda said.

“Yes?” There was a doubtful look in Lucia’s eye.

Peda looked at Adal, grim. She drew back. “No.”

She pursed her lips and said, “Just hear me out…”

***

Marius braced himself as he stepped through the gate out of the Legate’s compound. The Limitanei faced him, took in the blank were Ulysses should be, and he tried not to flinch at the expression on Seneca’s face. “We can’t discuss it here,” he said, low and fast. “Follow me.”

There was a pause before they fell in, and Marius led them back the way they had come, past the restless men and their fires, accusing eyes on all sides. Passing through a tight cluster of crumbling buildings, too derelict to house men, a change in one of the Limitanei’s footsteps made him dodge. Varro missed his grip, but Marius was forced to the wall, Seneca’s machete at his throat. “Give me one reason I should not,” he said.

“Two,” Marius said, hands raised, empty. “I am the Courier’s son, and report directly to the Order’s spymasters. You would make very dangerous enemies, killing me.”

“You were killed in the Legate’s camp. Tragedy, them cutting you down," Marcus said.

Seneca adjusted his grip on his machete, the blade closer to Marius’ neck. “Or you defected to Venator’s side. Closer to the truth, that. What have you done to him?”

“Put Ulysses where he needs to be,” Marius said. He looked past him, trying to gauge the other three. “Calidus has him. Aquilina’s been trying to sway him for months. Handing him the Courier’s closest agent should be what it takes.”

The rest shared a look, incredulous, but Seneca didn’t waver. “You think she will forgive you, for this?”

“Too many ears here,” he said, glancing at the gap in the buildings, back towards a stand of tents. “Follow me. _Trust_ me, and I will make sense of this to you.”

“We won’t abandon him here,” Fulvis said, looking back the way they had come.

“Tell us your _grand scheme_ , or we leave your corpse in this alley to rot,” Seneca said, unmoving.

“Abandoning him was never the plan.” _Appeal_ , what would they trust— “All of you were Legionaries. You understand orders—and that all you need to do is _act_ on them, rather than know the entire picture. That some information is best left in the right hands. I know I have done little to earn your trust, but I swear on _her_ name that this is about getting as many people out alive as we can. Including our own.” He looked Seneca in the eye. “No more dead children, Decanus.”

He stared at him a long moment, expression unreadable as he stepped back to sheath his machete. “An eavesdropper, too. Should have expected it, from a Frumentarius.”

“Part of the job,” Marius said, lowering his hands. “Come on. I have contacts here, among Venator’s men. They’ll help us see this through.”

He held his breath as he turned away, and didn’t let it go until he heard them follow.

***

Adal grimaced, dizzy. Looking at the hall upside-down on Peda’s shoulders was bad enough, but the blood loss made it twice as disorienting.

She caught a glimpse of a Guard ahead, hand on his machete, but not yet drawing. “What is—”

“Get a healer!” Peda shouted. “She’s bleeding!”

She kicked the door to the infirmary open, making a woman laying in a cot start. Muttering an apology, Peda lay Adal down on the cot by the desk.

The motion made her head swim. “This was a stupid idea,” she said.

“You agreed,” Peda said, a little too cheerful.

The door at the back of the room cracked open, and she saw Fen peek through before throwing it open. “What did you _do_?”

“Got up to go to the bathroom,” Adal said, letting her head fall back. Fen lit up a lamp as she took in the blood soaking through her jeans. “Felt something pop.”

“Adal, I told you not to…” Fen shook her head, looping a strip of cloth around her thigh one-handed, holding pressure with the other.

The door into the infirmary opened, the priestess stopping to examine the damage on the frame. Lucia ghosted in behind her. “I had hoped it a few more days at least, before I needed to see you again, Domina.”

“I’m fun like that,” Adal said. Peda stepped away to hover by her head, and Aquilina picked up a toolkit from the desk before pulling a stool up to the cot. “You ain’t selling me to Venator.”

“I had no plan to,” Aquilina said, rolling up her pant leg. “Nor have I any great desire to confide my own plans in you.” She looked up at Adal. “That stitch is cut, not torn.”

She pushed up onto her elbows, head spinning and almost touched her face, the bead bumping against her cheek. “Well, it wasn’t my first choice,” she said. “But you ain’t leaving me to bleed. All this Temple wants me alive.”

Aquilina shifted imperceptibly, and gave a slow, almost appreciative laugh. “Never made a good decision in your life, have you?” But she opened her kit, gestured for Fen to move her hands from where she was holding a rag. She draped her veil back over her head as she did, leaning for a closer look.

Adal did touch the bead then, laying back. “Not a one.” Part of her had expected a grim, thunderous sort of face, knowing Ulysses—and she had a firm jaw, maybe, but bright eyes and a cool, reserved expression. Adal reached into her duster pocket, and held out something small. “Figured you’d appreciate this more than the rest of the council.”

She took the bottle, reading the hand-lettered label. “I got a man traveling with me got stabbed in the guts a few days ago. He’s gonna live. There’s a few diseases we almost completely knocked out, in Freeside,” Adal said. “I got people manufacturing more, different kinds. Trying to turn auto-doc tech into something a real doc can use. We’re growin’ three times the crops on half the water. There's power to every corner of that desert. And that’s just the start of it, priestess. You got a lot more to gain by keeping me alive.”

“I am aware,” she said, setting the bottle aside and threading a needle.

Adal waited, let her work, bit her cheek rather than complain about the fresh stitches. Peda raised an eyebrow at her, arms folded. After a moment, “I already made one decision, waiting on your people,” Adal said. “Want me to make more?”

Aquilina looked over. “And I made mine some time ago.”

Adal stared at her, then let her head fall back. “Fuck you.”

Lucia coughed faintly, and Fen tensed. “Kinder than I deserve, perhaps,” Aquilina said, snipping the thread.

“You ain’t worried I’m about to storm the Temple with a horde of robots?”

“I think giving Vegas its best chance involves you letting _us_ look to Arizona, and seeking strength through trade,” Aquilina said. “You are the sort of woman to stretch yourself too thin, Courier. Trust us to look to whatever might remain of the Legion. Continue with your science projects and rebuilding, as we’ll see to your surplus.”

She rubbed at her face. “And what’s it take to convince your boss?”

“Winning.” Aquilina stood, leaving Fen rebandaging her leg. “I assume you moved to stall Venator, somehow.”

“That was the plan.”

Aquilina didn’t quite smile. “Marius knows his work. Under two days, for your army to arrive…Let us hope that is fast enough.”

***

Ulysses could only doze fitfully, trying to find a balance between leaning against the crossbar and the bonds on his arms. An hour of trying to work a hand free had just left him with pins and needles in them, the ropes wedged tighter. He flexed his legs, trying to keep feeling in them, before closing his eyes and trying to drive away the gnawing pain of his side.

It was still dark when he woke again. A jolt of fear went up his back, trying to orient himself, head spinning. The faintest light crept in from under the edges of the tent, and he could barely make out the figure moving towards him. The light caught the edge of a blade, and he pulled against his restraints as it was raised level with his face—

“Where did you get this?”

His heart didn’t want to slow, even as he recognized Calidus, the Walker knife. “From her. Courier,” he said, voice hoarse. “A gift.”

A breath, and, “What’s her name?”

“Adal,” he said, added, “Out of Jia and Ouray. Of the Walker.”

He counted his heartbeats, got to six before Calidus moved. The rope on one arm tightened, then fell slack, cut. Ulysses staggered as his balance shifted, rubbing feeling back into his hands as the other was freed. “What is—”

“No time,” Calidus said. He pressed Ulysses’ weapons into his arms, headed for the back of the tent. Ulysses followed, dropping the canvas behind him without a sound, trying to muffle his footsteps as they crept along the warehouse’s back wall. A shape resolved in the dark, and Ulysses tensed, but the Praetorian only traded a nod with Calidus, holding open a man-door.

The moon had set, turning the ruins into a looming mass of shadow. The door clicked shut behind him, and Calidus led on, Ulysses dragging behind, each breath sending a stab through his chest. Few fires were lit so late, but they were forced to skirt through alleys and side roads still, the night watch and restless Legionaries wandering the roads. Calidus slowed, gesturing to a shadow where one house had slumped against another.

A Legionary stepped out, one of the priestesses’ Praetorians, with a machete. He pulled down his scarf. “Seneca is meeting us nearer the wall,” Marius said. “Some of the other men have joined them.”

“Take us there,” Calidus said. Marius nodded, taking the lead. There was a flash of white behind him, a tall figure stepping out from between the houses. Calidus slowed. “You were supposed to wait for...”

“Things moved up.” She pulled the blanket over her shoulders higher, trying to hide the robe under it.

From under the blanket, in her arms, a child stared out at Ulysses. He looked on wide-eyed, thumb in his mouth, hair glowing nearly as white as the priestess’s clothes in the dark.

Ulysses caught glimpses of the wood-and-earth wall between buildings, facing the gap separating the siege camp and the city. Marius gestured for them to wait in the shadow of a building, crossing the street as a casual pace. Discreetly turning his head, he knocked on the door of a home, someone inside opening it. With one last check of the street, he beckoned the three of them to follow.

Inside, a few Legionaries lowered their weapons, murmured, “ _Salve._ ” Marius was nearly through the main room, Calidus and the priestess following him. Ulysses brought up the rear, missing the first step as they were led into a basement.

The priestess caught his arm, steadying him. Her veil was draped back over her head, and she peered at him critically, tall enough to look him level in the eye. His ears were still humming as he tried to focus on her frown. “You could have skipped the concussion.”

Calidus hesitated, a few steps down. “I thought I had.”

She shook her head as she got a better grip on him, the child on her hip playing with the golden clasp on her stole. “Then I credit your survival as much to your toughness as to his restraint,” she said, helping him balance the rest of the way down. “Rest as long as you can. The more you’re about now, the more you’ll regret it later.”

There were more Legionaries in the basement, looking curiously at the newcomers. “ _Audio_ ,” Ulysses mumbled, and squinted at himself. That had been in…?

She sighed as she helped him settle against the wall, setting the boy beside him. “Calidus, you knocked him into another _language._ ”

He looked back over his shoulder, Seneca peering round him. “It had to look convincing.” Ulysses caught a flash of embarrassment on his face. “Apologies, courier. I’m not used to hitting people so that they live.”

Ulysses nodded to him, rather than try speaking again. He scanned the room instead, taking in the mix of Legion red and Order black. Several men were looking at him—or no, the the white-haired boy beside him, Venator’s ringer, his Caesar. He didn’t seem to care, trying to grab a loose thread on the hem of his red tunic. The priestess turned away from a footlocker, and several of the Order men averted their eyes from her uncovered face. “Here. All we have is bitter drink, but it’s better than nothing.”

He downed it in a shot, holding his breath to keep from gagging. The priestess knelt beside him, another bottle in hand, watching the men warily. “Do you know what they’re planning?” she said, voice low. Odd that she kept her face uncovered; the veil went in hand with being a priestess. With it raised, she was a handsome woman, with keen eyes and full lips, honey-gold hair working its way in waves out from under her veil.

“No,” he said, slowly, knowing he should have put it together by now, but the static between his ears was making it difficult. “Get you both to safety,” he managed. That was bound to the the first step, anyway.

She nodded, still watching the room. Ulysses stared at Calidus’ back, the other men looking to him, listening intently as he spoke. Adal’s son. Had that same _presence_ to him, that focus, a sense of stillness before a strike. He was in profile as he listened to one of the Order men, and he could pick out a shadow of her features, the same serious expression.

Motion beside him made him look over. “Ma,” the boy said, tugging at the priestess’s stole. She pulled a string of beads from the folds of it, each in a different shape and color, stroking his hair back as he took it. The boy chattered to himself as he slid them up and down the cord, occasionally gnawing on one.

He glanced at the priestess again, at the infant ‘Caesar’. Or rather, Calidus’ wife, disguised as one, and her son. _Their_ son.

Ulysses’ mouth opened, and it took a moment to find a word. All he could manage was a soft, but heartfelt, “ _Shit._ ”

“Are you well?” she said, looking over.

“Her grandson,” he said, pushing himself up to sit straighter. “You are…”

“Aura?” she said, head cocked. “’Her’ who?” 

He put his hand to his head. Where to start? “Brothers. Marius, and…”

She narrowed her eyes at him, then tipped her head back, realization dawning.

Marius noticed, leaving the men to crouch next to them. “Is something wrong?”

“You could have _told_ me!” she hissed. “You said you were her son, but not that he was your…”

“Half brother,” Marius said, shrugging. Aura put her fingers to her temples, staring at the floor. “Look at it this way. Once she knows who you are, you’ll be the two safest people in the southwest.”

She rubbed at her face, still with a blank look in her eyes. “I don’t…” Aura’s gaze fell on the boy, rattling the string of beads. She looked at Ulysses. “And did you…?”

“No. Thinks he’s dead. No way to know different, until now,” he said, with a nod at Calidus. He narrowed his eyes at Marius. “Couldn’t have _told_ us this plan?”

“What do you think the Courier would have done?” Marius said. “If I had told her her missing son wanted assurance _she_ was alive, so she could keep her grandson safe from Venator _and_ the Temple? So we could get him on our side and end this siege?” He shrugged again, raising a hand. “If it’s any consolation, we were working to arrange a more…discreet meeting, that didn’t involve you getting hurt, but Venator rushed us.” 

“Safe from the Temple?” Aura said. “You think they would hurt him? Us?”

Marius hesitated, and said a little too slowly, “I don't think so. But if anything happened to him, it would break morale in the Legion, and the Temple is getting desperate.” He nodded at the room. "It was his only demand, some assurance of who the Courier was, and getting you to her. You might have realized he's...difficult to argue with."

“So the Courier is the only thing keeping them from using us as leverage, too? One old woman, against the entire Order _and_ what’s left of the Legion.” She shook her head, and almost laughed, something like despair on her face. “This is how it ends, then. Bought and sold one last time.”

“We are not—”

“I should have known you were no different from the rest of them.”

Marius looked down, trying to keep the hurt off his face. Even Aura seemed upset by her words, looking away.

“Adal’s faced worse, with fewer allies,” Ulysses said, keeping his voice between the three of them. Aura didn’t quite look up. “Even without blood, she’d move mountains, keeping you safe. Both of you. Deserve nothing of what’s happened…Anyone here wants to set that right, do right by _you_ , it’s her.”

She looked doubtful, staring at the boy again. He grinned and rattled his beads louder, and in a soft-edged baby's voice, said, “ _Cano_.”

He seemed uncertain at their silence, until Ulysses said, “Very good.” The boy beamed up at him.

“How are you feeling? Has your stomach settled?” Aura asked, offering the other bitter drink.

“I’ll manage,” he said, downing the drink as fast as he could, and started coughing anyway. His ribs protested, and he had to struggle to breathe evenly a moment, stars in his eyes.

“Good thing you’re going back to the Temple,” Marius said, rueful.

The first dose had cleared his head enough that Ulysses moved to stand. Marius gave him a hand up anyway, and he tried not to hold the other to his ribs. “Staying here.”

“You’ll never be able to fight like this,” Aura said, hands up and ready to catch him. “Get to safety, until you’re needed.”

The boy watched them rise, then grabbed a fistful of her dress to stand with them. “S’go. Go,” he said, reaching up and standing on his toes. “Ma, up. S’go.”

She picked him up, turning to face the crowd as they started to stir. Calidus spotted them, a head above the rest of the others, and made his way over. “We’ll be moving shortly,” he said, looking at the child, then Ulysses. “Are you able to travel?”

“Cover their escape,” he said, nodding to Aura. “Staying here to fight.”

The look Calidus gave him was a little too skeptical for his liking. “I would rather you stayed with them. If Venator catches you again, you’re leverage.”

Seneca stepped up beside him. “The Courier’s Securitrons are enroute,” he said. “Better they meet someone expected, before they open fire on your men,” he said, indicating the Legionaries filing upstairs.

Calidus frowned and looked to Aura. “He’ll live,” she said. “Better he wasn’t fighting, but it sounds like we’re out of options.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Marius said. “I can get her to the Courier. My word on it.”

“You’ve been playing both ends against the middle from the start. Your word doesn’t count for much,” Calidus said. “Whose side are you even on?”

Marius shrugged. “Right now?”

Seneca said, “My men can accompany her, sir. They are all above reproach.”

"I appreciate it, Decanus, but your men—"

Aura sighed. “I’m leaving now. If one of you gets over yourselves long enough to babysit me, you can follow,” she said, heading into the next room. “The longer we stay here, the less time we have to get out.”

The men watched her go, and shared a look with varying levels of sheepishness before following. A hole had been knocked in the far wall, a barely man-sized access to part of the city’s tunnel system. A few of the Order lingered near it, the Limitanei at a prudent distance. Seneca went to them, indicating Aura and her son as he spoke.

Calidus stood aside next to the entrance, waiting. Ulysses saw him turn to Marius, and barely heard him say, “Don’t tell her.”

“Who?”

He seemed to hunt for words a moment. Side by side, he could see Adal in both of them, if in different ways. “She’ll protect Aura and the boy whether or not she knows,” Calidus said. “If she thinks I’m dead, leave it that way.”

“She’ll find out eventually,” Marius said. “I’ll tell her if you die, how's that?”

Calidus frowned. “You wouldn’t do that to her. And even if I do survive this…” He shook his head.

“She won’t care, Ches.”

“I’m not the person she knew, back then.”

“Then what name did you just answer to?”

Calidus took a breath, then stopped himself, giving him a dirty look. Seneca’s men were moving through the tunnel mouth, and Marius just nodded to him before following.

Aura paused, outside the tunnel, looking up at Calidus. Ulysses glanced away, expecting some parting word, a final kiss, and owed them that privacy. 

The silence made him look back, sidelong. Aura’s expression was staid, her feet planted. Calidus looked ready to speak, looking down at her, before finally laying a hand on his son’s back. The boy wrinkled his brow, then hesitantly reached toward him.

Aura turned away, the boy watching over her shoulder as they disappeared into the dark. Ulysses let Calidus stand, head bowed and a hand to his face, until his breathing steadied.

“They’re safe,” Ulysses said, low. “No matter what comes…this was right.”

He took a deep breath, standing a little straighter. “We should take cover elsewhere,” he said, voice rough. “Venator will know this was my work, and be looking for me near the wall.”

“West,” Ulysses said. “Securitrons are likely on the 40.”

Calidus nodded, grim and serious and so much like his mother. “I have men I need to speak with on the way,” he said, leading them upstairs. “Let’s go.”


	18. Chapter 18

Voices woke Adal. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” one of them said, full of concern and sorrow.

Adal kept her eyes closed, pretending to sleep a little longer.

“I thought…” Fen sounded wretched, but kept her voice down. “I didn’t know what would happen.”

She cracked an eye open. The door to the back room was ajar. “Go get her,” Aquilina said, gently. “You and your wife take as long as you need.”

The door opened wider, and Adal feigned sleep again. She heard Fen sniff as she stepped out, whispered for Peda to wait as she left, sandals slapping gently.

When she was out of hearing, a hand closed on her arm, giving her a shake. “What wrong with her?” Peda whispered.

Adal rolled over to look at her, sitting on the cot next to her. “Your hearing that bad, old lady?” 

She frowned and said quietly, “Yes.”

“Oh.” Adal said, looking away as she made a face. “I’ll leave this one to Fen. Trust me.”

Peda looked doubtful, but passed Adal a plate of food, only picking at her own. They’d hooked her up to another bottle of fluid, dripping slowly, and Adal muttered to herself as she worked around the tube. That seemed to be assurance enough for Aquilina, who barely nodded to her as she went to the patient on the other end of the room, a screen beside her cot.

When her plate was nearly empty, Adal looked up at the door. A high voice was protesting in the hall, growing slowly louder. It opened on Paz and a plump, motherly woman walking her along. “No, but—Miss Rosa, he—”

“—can’t be _fighting,_ Paz, we talked about—”

Aquilina stood, moving the screen to hide her patient from the room. “What’s happened?”

The woman, Rosa, raised her voice over Paz’s complaints. “She picked a fight with some of the boys—”

“—but _he_ started it!” she yelled, a hand to her bloody lip.

“—and just needs this looked at,” Rosa said, a little defeated, as she gestured at the girl.

Aquilina picked her up, sitting her down on the end of a cot. “Well, I missed you last time, Passercula, I suppose I should be glad to have the chance,” she said. “But at this rate, I’ll have to make you Atella’s helper, so you always have a healer nearby.”

Paz said nothing, giving her a sullen look as she dabbed blood off her chin. She flinched away as she got closer to the wound, and Adal reached over to nudge Peda on the leg. “Imagine that, a girlie picking fights,” she said, a little too loud. “Remind you of anyone?”

Peda raised an eyebrow, but glanced over at Paz, watching them back. “Oh, nooo,” she said. “You _never_ got up to anything like fights,” she said, with a roll of the eyes that could have strained something. Paz giggled, not seeming to notice Aquilina.

Adal leaned away, with a hand to her chest and a wounded expression. “Oh, _I’m_ sorry, missus ‘I punched out Jara’s youngest in under five minutes of knowing him’, I didn’t realize it took so much to count!”

“Oh, pah.” Peda waved a hand. “You were never as good as me, but you sure tried.”

Adal feigned outrage as Paz watched, trying to muffle her laughter as Aquilina smeared ointment on the wound. “That should heal well on its own,” Aquilina said, and Adal imagined there was a faint smile on her lips. “No stitches this time. _But_ ,” she said, wagging a finger at her. “No more fights. We talked, Paz, and you promised—”

“He took my doll!” Paz said, holding up a bundle of rags. “He pulled her arms off, an’—”

“They’re boys, Paz, you can’t expect them to play nice,” Rosa said, trying to take her hand.

Adal and Peda shared a look. “What did you do to him?” Adal said, leaning forward.

“I smacked him, like this!” Paz said, her demonstration making the adults lean back.

“That’s how you do it!” Adal said. “Then what?”

“Please don’t encourage—” Rosa hissed.

“He dint let her go, so I gave him a big _shove_!” she said, with much arm waving. “And he fell over!”

“Good girl!” Peda said. Paz hopped off the cot, going through the scuffle blow-by-blow. Aquilina stood back to watch, dropping her veil, back to a neutral, impassive priestess—but seemed to have her eyes on Adal, still.

She ignored it, beckoning to the girl. “Here, gimme that doll. I bet we can put her back together.”

Paz hopped up onto the cot with enough force that the legs scraped on the floor. Adal nodded along with her story as she turned over the doll, little more than a folded-over square of cloth, with another strip for arms that tied it into a rough human shape. She paused as the door opened again, Fen holding it for Celsa.

It took Peda a second longer, grinning at Paz as she talked. She glanced up once, then took a longer look at Celsa as she greeted Aquilina and Rosa, nearer the door. She reached back, blindly, and Adal caught her hand. Giving it a squeeze, she whispered, “Go on.”

Peda stood, straightening her shirt, tucking at wayward strands of hair, hands moving frantically as she tried to make herself look presentable. One stopped at her face, and Adal saw the panic and tears in her eyes as she turned away, trying to hide her crooked jaw behind her hand.

Celsa caught the motion, brow furrowing as she took Peda in, in her leathers and bare feet. Fen caught her elbow as she approached, drawing Celsa along. “This is the woman I’d like you to meet,” she said, her voice almost brittle. “Celsa, this is…”

Even Paz had stopped talking, looking up at them. Her brow furrowed, and she reached to tug at Peda’s skirt. In a stage whisper, she said, “Why are you crying?”

“Paz, no, come here,” Rosa said, hurrying over. “Let them…” She paused at a noise outside, looking to the window.

Adal pushed herself higher on the cot, following her gaze. Part of the city wall was visible here, between buildings. As she watched, there was another short whistle, and a distant _crumpf_ that shook a cloud of dust from the bricks. Adal could make out faint, dark dots moving across the top edge, at frantic speed.

“They’ve begun,” Aquilina said, standing at the next window. A little too calm, she turned to the room. “Rosa, go back to your class and bring them downstairs. Paz can remain with me. Can you walk, Courier?”

She swung her legs off the bed, trying to hide her wince. “Get me that brace back, we’ll find out.”

“Good. Atella, stay with Pacilla, she’s not breathing well yet,” Aquilina said, and Fen nodded. “We will begin evacuating the Temple immediately.”

***

The day dawned on crucified men.

Ulysses could hear Venator’s artillery behind them, hammering the city. In the shelter of a half-fallen building, he stopped to watch the shells strike, throwing dust from Flagstaff’s wall. Between them and the edges of city, he could see crosses, newly raised throughout the camp.

Calidus was murmuring with one of his men, watching the runs around him. Most of the Legion was grouped around the walls, just out of reach of the city’s defenders, but enough patrols remained—and both of them were too recognizable. Calidus nodded to the other man, who saluted as he left, and half-turned to Ulysses. “Not all of my Praetorians got out. We’ll need them, breaking through to Venator.”

He glanced at the nearest cross. Near enough, yet… “Be in any condition to fight?”

“They had better.” Calidus shifted back, into a shadow, as a cluster of Legionaries jogged down the road towards the city. When they passed, he went on, “I had the ear of several men in Venator’s circle still, but not enough. I’ll need every fighter I can get to stand with us.”

“Have a plan?”

Calidus glanced back, impassive, but Ulysses thought there was a little irritation in it. “Of course. We’ve traded most of them for corpses, by now.”

He looked closer, up at the nearest cross. The man on it was slumped on the bar, so roughly tied he could have slipped free, if he were alive to do so. “Calidus,” Ulysses said. “How do you spell that?”

“I don’t,” he said, moving to the next road down. Ulysses followed, head on a swivel in the open. They ducked into the next row of buildings, and Calidus slowed, peering out between a half-fallen house and a fence. “Another here, under guard.”

Ulysses came up beside him, peering around the corner. Four Legionaries lingered at the next intersection, a cross raised at its center. The guards looked injured, to some degree, and three of them only recruits.

“Bait,” Calidus said.

“Bait.” Ulysses looked up at the surrounding buildings. An apartment was still standing, the nearest high structure. He watched the top floor, corner window. The glass was broken, and he was rewarded with a rustle of the drapes in the breeze, the muzzle of a gun poking through. Raising a hand to point, he said, “More than one watching?”

Calidus took a moment to respond, scanning the area. “No,” he said at last. “Venator wouldn’t waste the fighters. Killing us just gives him a little more breathing room.”

“Seems certain enough you’d return for your men.”

He stepped back from the gap, mouth set. “Saevus and I have known each other long enough, I thought he would focus on my defection instead of the city. Should have waited to get Aura out,” he added, almost to himself. Shaking his head, Calidus didn’t look Ulysses in the eye as he turned back. “He knew I wouldn’t leave loyal men to die.”

Ulysses watched him a moment, let the moment drop as he looked out at the intersection. “If you got into that building, could you take care of the sniper? Quietly?”

“Keep him from getting a shot off,” Ulysses said, nodding. “The men on the street?”

“If they’re smart, they’ll surrender,” Calidus said, idly adjusting his grip inside his gauntlet. “If they aren’t, it won’t be much of a fight.”

He nodded. “Wait on my signal,” he said, circling around the house. A glance showed the guards focused toward the city, artillery still hammering Flagstaff’s walls. There was no movement at the window as he sidled up on the apartment’s entrance—perhaps the gunner was just as distracted. The lock was broken on the door, and he eased it shut behind himself before hunting for the stairs.

The stairwell was unlit, the only light seeping through the doors on the landings. He flicked open a lighter—one of Adal’s spares, accepted as much to humor her as to avoid admitting he’d lost the flint half of his fire striker—and was rewarded with the shine of a tripwire on the first landing. Flicking it on every few steps, he kept an eye out for more, glancing overhead for anything rigged to the ceiling. He paused at the top of the stairwell, delicately pulling apart a grenade bouquet hanging by the door in the light seeping around the gap.

“…bad idea?”

Ulysses strained his ears for the response. “He’s one man, defying the Legate. He’ll die as easy as the next.”

“Venator was appointed by Lanius, not chosen by Mars.”

He tucked the last grenade under his duster, reaching for the door.

“And?”

“And any man with the nerve to could take his place.”

“Mars favors Venator. That’s why he is the one standing warden over his Son.”

The door to the nearest unit was broken off its hinges, laying on the floor. Ulysses stepped around it rather than risk the noise, following the breeze from an open window. Kneeling before it, the one with the rifle shrugged. “But you’ve heard the rumors. They say this young Caesar is actually…”

“Don’t start with that again,” the other said, standing beside him with his arms folded. “Very _tribal_ of you, thinking bloodline matters.”

The sniper hunched his shoulders, going back to his scope. Ulysses didn’t wait to hear a response, bringing the butt of his staff hard against the standing Legionary’s head. He staggered aside as the sniper tried to rise, and a kick sent him tumbling out the window. As he turned to him, the other man threw down his gun. “Yield! I yield!”

Ulysses kept his staff back, ready to swing, and cocked his head. There was a yell from the street below, and the sound of a ballistic fist. The Legionary swallowed, hands still raised. “You either serve Calidus or the Courier. I’ll take my chances with them, not a fraud with more luck than most.”

He sized him up, the sounds from the window gone quiet. Finally, Ulysses nodded. “You go down the stairs first.”

The trip down was shorter, the Legionary with a flashlight and a good sense of where they had laid their traps. The cross was empty, a pair of bodies laying in the street. Ulysses turned at a hiss, and one of the recruits beckoned to him, sticking his head out of an alley. As he scanned the street, looking for any other hazards, he turned back to the city.

A plume of dust rose from the wall, and the roar of falling stone echoed through the siege camp.

Ulysses had to make himself turn and follow. Calidus looked back at him a moment, the other Praetorian’s arm across his shoulders. He bowed his head as he stepped away, and Ulysses barely caught the flash of fear on his face.

***

The Temple’s main room was a mass of dirty white smocks, every classroom and creche emptied into the hall. There was an almost carnival air to it; voices were raised in fear and excitement, priestesses and teachers trying to keep order, their charges full of nervous energy at such a strange development.

Adal cradled her rifle in her arms, watching them from one side of the hall. The adults with children were going through to the lower levels first, each child holding the smock of the one in front of them, some of the older girls carrying the youngest. “You’re sending kids through that minefield?” Adal murmured, turning to Fen.

She stood to the side, the woman from the infirmary sitting against the wall beside her, still wheezing faintly as she breathed. Fen shook her head. “We’ve drilled on this. The Guard have gone through to disable the traps, and are setting up a safe zone on the far edge of the siege camp. Venator should find an empty Temple, and most of his men ought to be in the city. It will buy us time to get away.”

“Gives him a nice stronghold,” Peda said, one hand tight on the strap of her own gun. A few paces away, Celsa was still staring at her, Paz holding her hand as she felt at the cut on her lip. “And you’re just gonna run? With hundreds of kids in tow, to where?”

Fen shrugged, raised her hands. “I don’t _know_. I’m just a healer, I don’t…”

Aquilina approached through the crowd. “We’ll be taking another route out. We of the Council are moving separately, to keep from being captured together.”

“Shouldn’t Paz be with her teacher?” Adal said, nodding to Rosa, still visible through the throngs in the hall.

“Rosa has enough children to keep track of. We can lighten her burden. Besides,” she tweaked Paz’s ear as she passed, and she stuck her tongue out, “you stand a better chance of stopping her if she picks a fight with a Legionary.”

Peda had to take Adal’s weight again, limping down a flight of stairs. She was swearing under her breath by the first landing, and someone took her other arm. Celsa looked cautiously around her, towards Peda, as Adal muttered her thanks.

The hallway entered into a boiler room, a hole knocked into the ground. Rather than try the ladder, Adal sat on the edge, Peda taking her by the arms as people waiting below helped lower her down. Standing at her left, someone said, “At this rate, you _will_ lose that leg."

“Oh, shut it, you,” Adal said, leaning on the wall. Lucia shrugged and turned towards the tunnel. “Did Ulysses make it back alright?”

Aquilina hesitated, on the last rung of the ladder. Lucia paused, her face expressionless as she looked over her shoulder. “None of them came back.”

She continued down the tunnel, a Guard flanking her. Adal stayed where she was, didn’t move until Peda was down the ladder, and the Guards above dragged some sort of cover over the opening. Leaning on Peda, she let her lead her into the dark, heart in her throat.

He hadn’t come back. Ulysses, Marius…

Peda put her arm across her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “We gotta keep going, Adal.”

She didn’t look up, but could hear the rest of the group getting ahead. She nodded and let Peda lead.

The tunnels were less treacherous now, the traps gone and lights set up here and there. Adal could hear echoes, snatches of voices at the junctions, the Temple’s other inhabitants getting to safety. She patted Peda on the arm near one, leaning on the wall. “I gotta rest.”

“We can’t…” But Adal was shaking her head, weight on her better leg. Peda turned up the tunnel. “Break. Five minutes.”

There were murmurs in the rest of the group, and Aquilina moved through them, a decanus of the Guard off her shoulder. “I have a dose of Hydra. It should get you to the edge of the city.”

“No Hydra,” Adal grunted, but her leg was screaming at her, the pain making her too nauseous to breathe. “I’ll make it. Just need time.”

“We do not have time, Courier,” Aquilina said. “Venator only needs to find one of our tunnel accesses before they’re flooded with his men.”

Adal took a breath to argue, then pressed her lips tight and held out her hand. Aquilina reached into a satchel half-hidden under her stole, but hesitated, turning to face a side tunnel. Beside her, the Guard drew his machete, and Peda brought up her rifle, stepping between them and the sound of people, growing slowly louder. Adal pushed off the wall and reached for her own, the voices of the men distinct, and above them—

“That’s a kid,” she said, pushing Peda’s gun down. “Are they from…?”

“Domina!” Seneca rounded the corner, machete drawn. Marius was a step behind, the Limitanei bringing up the rear.

Leaning on the wall, she searched through them, but… “Ulysses?”

“He remained behind,” Seneca said, and gestured at someone at the back of the group. “He is alive, but chose to assist Calidus in the siege camp, while we escorted his wife to the Temple.”

The other priestesses had dropped their veils as the men approached, but the woman with the Limitanei was disentangling hers from her hair one-handed, a child on her hip. She managed to pull one last pin free, letting the veil fall to the floor and shaking out a mass of dark gold hair. She looked up at Adal’s group, measuring. “I take it there’s no Temple to be escorted _to_.”

“Venator is moving to breach the city walls,” Aquilina said, stepping towards her. “This is the boy?”

He had laid his head against her shoulder, half-hiding his face even as he peered at them. “He is,” the woman said, and shook her head. “You’re already abandoning the Temple? We just _came_ from outside the city, it’s still full of Venator’s men.”

“We have planned for this,” Aquilina said, gesturing for her to follow. “Trust us.”

She frowned, but fell in step behind her. Adal paused, catching Marius’ eye. “What’s happened?” she murmured.

“All according to plan,” he said, voice low. “Venator’s no hold on Calidus now. He’ll work to…” He trailed off, looking beside her.

A small hand closed on hers. “C’mon, Mistress Adal, they’ll leave you behind,” Paz said, pulling her along. “Gotta hurry!”

“Busy thing,” Adal said. Peda had hung back, and took Adal’s other arm. She looked back over her shoulder. “Now, what’s this Praetorian going to…?”

Marius wasn’t there, already ahead in the pack, speaking with Lucia. Adal sighed and grit her teeth as she walked.

Her head came up again at the sound of boots in the tunnel, hand gong to her rifle. The pair of Guards with them drew machetes, the Limitanei close behind. Fen and Aquilina shooed the rest of the group back, murmuring something about a ladder. Adal let them pass her, hanging back with her gun drawn, Peda going ahead with the fighters. Celsa hesitated, then came to stand next to her. “In case you need help,” she said, when Adal raised an eyebrow.

“Kind of you,” she said, double checking her gun was fully loaded.

“Have I done something wrong?” Celsa said, voice small. ”I just—I’m sorry.” She half-raised her hands to her face. “This isn’t the time, but Atella won’t say anything, and that…other woman…”

Ahead, there was the shout of a Legionary spotting their group. Adal glanced back at the ones retreating. Aquilina disappeared behind a hand-dug offshoot of tunnel, with Fen urging her patient to follow. “Nothin’ you’ve done, miss, and no time like the present,” Adal said, resettling her grip on her gun. “You should fall back, head up. We’ll follow.”

The sound of the fight died down, and the rest of the group backed towards them, wary. “Decent sized patrol,” Marius said, not slinging his gun. “They’re expecting to find people down here.”

“Can hole up topside a while,” Adal said, as Peda gave her a hand. “We need to regroup a bit.”

The ladder, again, was a struggle, but between Peda below and the priestesses above, Adal made the trip with minimal swearing. She rested against the wall, letting the rest file up as she took in what looked like some kind of mechanic’s shop, bay doors all along one wall and the interior full of scrap and tool boxes. Paz was lifting the lid on one, and something clanked as she reached in to rummage.

“Paz, c’mere,” Adal said. The girl lowered the lid guiltily, coming to stand next to her. “You’re fine, dearling,” she said. “Give an old lady a hand up though?”

Calidus’ wife watched as she did. “She favors him,” she said, voice neutral.

Aquilina stepped between them, took her hand. “We should see if there’s a back room, away from the windows.”

She didn’t move. Adal looked back at her, her son on her hip, looking down at her daughter who had her hand in Adal’s. Her face was unreadable, a soft wonder with something hard behind it.

“This is Passercula,” Adal said, giving her hand a little swing. “Goes by Paz.”

“I know,” she said. She finally let Aquilina draw her aside, but didn’t look away from the girl until she passed out of sight.

“Her ma, then?” Peda said, coming up beside her.

Adal nodded, and gave Paz’s hand a squeeze. Paz looked up, brow furrowed, but said nothing. “Should get out of sight,” Adal said. The Limitanei had stationed themselves around the room, the Guards drawing up the ladder and dragging a slab of concrete over it. Watching the room, Marius gestured them towards a storage area. Adal sat with a thump on a crate, and looked at Paz. “Can you go ask Aquilina about that dose of Hydra for me?”

She nodded eagerly and ran off. Peda leaned back on a section of shelving, arms folded. “Well, now what?”

“Wait, I guess,” Adal said. “Could talk to your daughter.”

Peda grimaced, looking away. “I can’t…”

“Can’t?” Adal sat back. “Christ, Peda, you dragged yourself through fires and tunnels and all the rest of the Legion, just to say _can’t?_ ”

“Yes.” She started to clench her teeth, but stopped short, rubbing at the joint of her jaw. “I came here looking for Ayla. You bet your life. But that girl, she’s…” She shrugged hard enough to knock into the shelving, and folded her arms tighter.

“Didn’t realize what it’d be like, seeing her grown up,” Adal said, voice soft. “Someone you don’t know.”

There were tears in Peda’s eyes, and her hand shook as she wiped at them.

“Talk to her. You and Fen, together.”

“I don’t deserve her. Either of them.” Her voice was strained, and she tried to keep it low. “Goddamn it, Adal, _none_ of us would be here right now, If I’d…It’s my fucking fault the Walker got taken.”

“Peda…”

“I was your _boss_ , thanks, your senior hunter. If I’d done my job, none of us would even fucking _be_ in this fffmmm…”

Paz held the Hydra up over her head as she entered. “I got the medicine!”

“Thank you, Paz,” she said, taking it. She looked up at Peda, and kept her voice down as she said, “It ain’t anyone’s fault. You know exactly how long I’ve had to figure that one out. Peda, we _both_ did everything we could. But that whole thing was…more than us. We were one band, two women against an army.”

She wasn’t looking at her. “And I couldn’t even protect her, in that fucking Temple.” On a crate next to Adal’s, Paz gasped and put her hands over her ears, and Peda shot her a guilty look. “I couldn’t have played along, looked after her…”

“You’re getting a chance a hell of a lot of folk never will,” Adal said. “Don’t waste that.”

“You saw how she looked at me,” Peda said, bitter and low enough that Adal leaned closer. “This girl’s part of this Temple now. All she knows. Never seen a piece of wasteland trash blow in before, and I’m ashamed to call myself her ma.”

Adal glanced at the door, leading to the office, and beckoned Peda closer. She frowned and leaned in—just to hiss and jump away as Adal flicked her on the ear. “You’re being a jackass,” she said, firmly. “Climb out of that damn self-pity hole and _go talk to her_.”

Paz had her hands over her mouth now, wide-eyed.

Peda gave her one last look, but Adal refused to flinch. Rubbing at her ear, she left the storeroom.

“Those were bad words,” Paz said, faintly.

“You need ‘em, sometimes. I’ll teach you the real good ones for when you’re a grownup,” Adal said, uncorking the Hydra. The taste was just as foul as she remembered, and tried not to gag as she drained the bottle. “Just don’t tell Rosa, or anyone.”

“Mm-mm.” Paz shook her head. “I’ll get my mouth washed out.”

Adal tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. It had a little more curl to it than her ma’s loose waves, but was already starting to darken at the roots, turning over from platinum to gold. “Wouldn’t want that,” she said.

There was the sound of sandals at the entrance, and Calidus’ wife leaned in, hesitant. Adal nodded up at her. “Anything I can do for you, ma’am?”

“Just checking in,” she said, taking a seat. “Aquilina’s seeing to their other patient, Marius suggested I see how you were.”

She hefted the Hydra bottle. “Better shortly,” she said. “Hurts a bit less for the rest.”

“Good.” Her son was asleep in her arms, thumb in his mouth. She settled him a little more comfortably, and seemed ready to say something, but looked away.

Adal cleared her throat. “I, uh, didn’t get your name. Saw you were down as Aura, on the Legion’s records, but that’s the Legion. You got another name?”

There was a flash of surprise on her face, quickly schooled away. “I don’t…Not for a very long time, madam.”

Both of them looked up at shouts outside. Adal’s hand went to her rifle, and Paz pressed closer to her side. “Nothing yet,” Marius said, leaning on the storeroom door. “There’s men in the streets, but you’re still safer staying put, until I can coordinate with more of our people.”

“You’re going out there?” Adal said.

“Just long enough to scope it out. Only one of us that looks the part,” he said, brushing at the old Legion colors he wore. “Less than an hour. Hold tight until then.”

Adal nodded. His gaze lingered on Aura, and she stared after him a moment longer after he left. “You know how to use a gun?” Adal said, undoing one of the belts at her waist. Aura hesitated when she held out her holstered pistol, and Adal hefted it a little. “Dunno what it’s gonna be like in the next few hours. Personally, I’d feel better if you could defend yourself, push comes to shove.”

She pulled her hand back—but only to use her stole as a rough sling, the boy’s eyes opening briefly as she adjusted him. Taking the gun, Aura set the holster and belt aside as she examined it, ejecting the clip for a better look. “What’s this chambered for?”

“Twelve-seven,” Adal said. Aura raised an eyebrow, and Adal shrugged. “Don’t like shooting people more’n once.”

She nodded, slotting the clip back in. Staring down at the gun, Aura seemed to weigh it in her hand before she said, “Thank you.”

“Least I can do,” Adal said. “Ain’t much use out there, but I can keep you folks safe.”

She tried to sit more comfortably on the crate, and Aura kept her eyes down, on the gun. Paz swung her feet a little, bumping her heels on her seat, before glancing over and trying to sit more like Adal.

“You asked about my name,” Aura said, not looking at them. She snapped the safety off the pistol, chambered a round, and sighted on the far wall. “I was born Rhea, to my old tribe, and called Young Eagle when I came of age.”

Adal said nothing, watching her go through the process again, faster and smoother. “They named me Aura, as a slave. A wife.” Once again, with a grace and efficiency that suggested years of practice, not quite forgotten. “If I’m anyone now? I don’t know. A vulture. One who’s seen too much death.” She stared down at the gun. “We carry burdens too heavy for one bird to bear. Memories. Memories of the family I’ve had butchered,” she popped the chambered round free, thumbing it smoothly into the clip, “the friends I’ve lost,” clip inserted, safety off, “children born dead,” round chambered, sighting on the wall with one hand supporting the other, “and everything of myself I’ve had to cut away and let rot, to survive this Legion.”

She ran through it all once more, before holstering the gun beside her. “Vulture,” Adal said. “Good to meet you.”

“A name I’ll earn. Our tribe decides them, together.” She looked up at her, and half-smiled. “We’ll see if there’s enough of them left to make it stick. I think, for now…Rhea will do. That’s not who I am anymore, but…it’s familiar. It’s _mine_.”

“Fair enough. Rhea,” Adal said. “Still a pleasure.”

“I have a bird name, too,” Paz said, sitting up straighter.

Rhea opened her mouth, hesitated before saying, “I know. I picked it.”

“Oh.” The girl’s brow wrinkled. “Are you the priestess that brought me to the Temple?”

The adults shared a look, Adal neutral, and Rhea, heartbreak. “No, but she knew her,” Adal said, and Rhea looked away. “Say, can you do me a favor, Paz? Go look around, and find me a stick or something?”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “But I wanna…”

“Something like a cane or a crutch. Ask Atella if you need help.”

Paz slid off the crate, reluctantly. “Because, if you did bring me to the Temple, thank you, because that’s where all my friends are,” she said, giving her mother a little bow before leaving.

Adal shifted, ready to go sit next to her, in case she needed it. But she set her jaw, breathing through her nose, not breaking composure. “She wouldn’t care, would she. They don’t teach parentage.”

“That could change,” Adal said, but didn’t sit back. “She’s a good girl. Smart. Be proud if she was mine.”

She looked her in the eye, expression shifting to something Adal couldn’t place. “She…is.”

Adal blinked at her, and tipped her head.

Rhea pressed her lips together, seeming to think hard. “I only have pieces of this, madam. I know Marius is your son. He was in contact with me before he went west, to find you,” she said, slowly. “But…he had a brother. Half brother. One you thought had died.”

Her heart was beating too hard, and she had to fight to say, “Venator?” even as it hit her, the record, the dates—

“Calidus,” Rhea said. “Marius called him Ches, and he answered to it. Is that right?”

She had to lean forward, face in her hands and elbows on her legs, to keep from passing out, from throwing up, from breaking down crying and never stopping—

A hand was rubbing at her shoulder, and she felt for it blindly, squeezing it tight. Rhea gave as good as she got, and the touch grounded her, steadied her, almost painfully tight but keeping her from drowning in her own head. Alive, he _was_ alive, and no warlord, no dictator…

…But a Praetorian in the Legion still, with the trail of bodies behind him; eighteen years of war…

Adal straightened, took her hand back to wipe her face. Rhea’s son had woken as she moved, pulling at the edge of his mother’s stole. Rhea’s son, and Ches’, her grandson, peering at her shyly over the red cloth.

Up again, to his mother’s face, carefully expressionless but with her jaw clenched. His wife, wife to a Legionary, a slave.

They stared at each other, until Adal’s heart slowed, and she finally whispered, “Tell me. Everything. He…”

Her son shifted, and she looked away as she adjusted her stole. “There are questions you don’t want answered.”

“He hurt you.” Like a knife through her ribs, that, and Adal had to close her eyes and remember to breathe. Her _son_ , and he had—

“No, he…” Rhea shook her head, sighed through her nose. “I could have been given to worse men. He never so much as raised his voice to me.” She didn’t look up as she spoke, and Adal waited, not even sure where to start. “He never hurt _me._ But you understand the Legion. The things he would have done, to hold his rank, his devotion to his cause. Madam, I know you remember a son. Forget him. All that stands in his place is a monster, even if he is kinder than most.”

“He got you out,” Adal said, voice rasping.

A hesitation, a gesture that wasn’t quite a nod or shake of her head. “He had a chance to prevent this war. To prevent the _need_ of helping me escape. Nor does one kind act redeem a man like that.”

Adal’s stomach was a pit, and she stared at the boy in her arms, fidgeting with loose threads on her stole. He had his father’s hair, that same cowlick that was going to defy any attempt to tame it, the same curls. He looked away as she tried to meet his eyes, still of an age to be shy of strangers. Her grandson.

“Rhea,” she said, as softly as she could with the roughness in her throat. Adal reached out to touch her face, cupping her cheek before resting her hand on her shoulder. “I won’t call you daughter, Rhea, since you ain’t ever asked for this,” she said, low. She looked steadily back, hard, hurt, but listening. “But if there is anything I could do, anything in the whole of Vegas or the Mojave I could offer you, you have it.”

She stared at her a moment, not seeming to breathe. “Get me out,” she said. Her voice was low, but intense, the feeling in it enough to make Adal reach for her hand. There were tears in her eyes as she said, “Get me out. Quietly. Don’t let him know.”

“Where will you go?”

“Away,” Rhea said. “There’s a chance some of my—our tribe survived. Little Raven…Lucia wants to seek them out.” She looked at Adal, under her brows. “If you will give me anything, anything, keep this from him.”

Her chest hurt. “You think he’d…”

She looked down at the boy again. “I…don’t know. I don’t think so. But give me the peace of mind.”

“You have it.” Her son looked back and forth from both of them, finally saying something too soft for Adal to hear. Rhea murmured back, just as quiet, and Adal cleared her throat. "And this is...?"

"He doesn't really have a name." Rhea caught her expression and went on, "They were going to take him from me as soon as they could. I learned, with Passercula, it's easier not to..."

"He's down as Hastus, on the Legion's records," Adal said.

She stared a moment, then closed her eyes. "I told him not to..."

"Not to what?" Adal said.

She was shaking her head. "Get _attached._ "

They both looked up at another spate of gunfire outside. A door slammed, and Adal stood. “Don’t think we should hang around here much longer.”

Paz held up a length of pipe as she tried to step into the hall, blocking her way. “I had to ask Mistress Lucia, because Priestess Atella n’Celsa n’the other lady are crying a lot, but I got you a stick.”

Lucia stood behind the girl, arms folded. “Thank you, Paz,” Adal said, not looking away from Lucia. “You knew.”

“Knew what?” Lucia said mildly. Her eyes shifted, over Adal’s shoulder.

Marius was walking up the hall, speaking quickly with Aquilina. He paused at the sight of her, and Adal heard Rhea step up behind her. Marius went quiet, falling half a step behind Aquilina, his expression a little too neutral.

“So how long were you gonna keep me in the dark?” Adal said. Aquilina stopped just out of her reach, veil down. “My own son. My _grandchildren_. You tell me you didn’t _know._ ”

Her head came up, and she looked to the others. “We agreed—”

“I told her, madam,” Rhea said. “There was no agreement between _us_. Why keep this from her?”

Aquilina’s gaze fixed on Lucia. “I’ve never seen her before in my life,” she said, deadpan.

Adal glanced back as Rhea said, “But you told me you were Adopted Magpie’s da—hmm.” She cut herself off, biting at her own lips as Lucia made a gesture.

Marius shrugged when Aquilina turned to him. “I hadn’t mentioned it to her,” he said. “But I don’t think Ulysses knew to keep it to himself.”

A moment of silence, and Adal held her breath…but Aquilina just reached under her veil to put a hand to her face, the other on her hip.

“Why’s it so damn important I don’t know?” Adal asked, voice low and harsh.

She lowered her hand, looking her full in the face through the veil. Gently, Aquilina said, “Because Calidus needs to die.”

***

There was a well-off home still standing on the edge of the siege camp, along the 40. A few men keeping the perimeter saluted Calidus as they passed, and gave the other men guarded looks. More were leveled at them as they stepped inside, but the newcomers kept their hands visible, made no sudden moves. One of the Praetorians gestured the injured men aside, taking the man Calidus carried.

Ulysses scanned the room. The men here trended older, veterans and officers, a scattering of Praetorians, all clumped together as they spoke. Men who would have been close to Calidus, known about Venator’s lies. The few recruits seemed uncertain, but he caught some of them giving Calidus awed looks as he passed them for the stairs.

None seemed inclined to follow, and turned to Ulysses instead. “What news?” one of the veterans asked.

“Wall’s breached,” he said, and a mutter went through the room. Fifty people here, at most, no hoping for more in other buildings nearby… “No choice but to wait for support.”

Some of the Legionaries looked at each other, but none dared speak up. “Outnumbered, if we move now,” Ulysses said, “even for you.” A few of the men snorted at the flattery, but most just stared back, sober. “Not ideal, waiting. But makes the difference between no and slim chances. Courier’s machines, her men, have what it takes to turn this tide. Trust in us.”

A few sat down, and murmurs started again. Ulysses headed for the stairs, passing a few women, slaves and wives tending to the injured. They glanced at him as he headed upstairs, and he heard the murmur behind him. He ignored it, glancing into the rooms upstairs as he passed. A few veterans peered back at him, but in the one overlooking the 40, Calidus stood alone.

He hardly looked back as Ulysses settled against a pool table pushed against the wall, its felt shredded. “Any sign?”

“None,” Calidus said, facing out a window.

Ulysses watched him stare out at the abandoned city, shifting his weight, anxious and tense. Not a man prone to inaction, him. “Waiting’s our only option.”

He sighed as he stepped back, watched Ulysses from the corner of his eye as he paced to another window. His gaze flicked down, to the knife at his belt, before turning away. Not a word as he did, leaving his back to him.

“Expected to find her, in that fire.”

Calidus didn’t turn. “That’s not important right now.”

It wasn’t. Ulysses refolded his arms, looking to the door, who might overhear. “No word from the city?” he asked. Of course there wasn’t, not yet, but…

“Hasn’t reached us.”

Silence.

He took a breath and let it out slow, weighing options. Too many words hung in the air to even begin. Ones, true enough, that were not important right now. Not important to the moment, the war, but to make up for years of—

“How are you feeling?”

Ulysses looked up. Calidus was still watching out the window. “Recovered,” he said, didn’t mention the throb in his temples when he turned his head. “Didn’t hit you too hard?”

He did look back at that, frowning. It shifted back to neutral after a moment, catching on. “Fine. Rather be out there.” And again, a glance at that knife before turning away. Knew what it was, no doubt, its significance.

“Hasn’t said much about you.” And there it was, a few words in that heavy silence brought to life. “Would’ve liked to meet in better circumstances.”

Calidus almost moved to face him, paced to the next window instead.

“Trying to imagine her face. Your children.”

He shook his head. “Don’t tell her.”

Ulysses studied him, back still turned. “And what will you do after this? Avoid her?” No answer, and his heart started to sink. Ulysses stood to join him at the window, looking out over the 40. Empty. “Getting out of this alive,” he said, quietly.

Calidus looked older than his age, watching the horizon. “We can’t be sure of that.”

“Hn.” Ulysses shrugged. “Made a promise. Don’t think dying would keep her from finding me. And you…?”

Calidus made a frustrated sound, turning away. Ulysses watched him go. He stopped with one hand on the doorframe. “I know who you are, to her,” he said, turning just enough to keep his voice in the room. “Or suspect. It changes nothing. We have a war to win and people to protect. That’s all that matters.”

“People to protect,” Ulysses said, and turned back to the window. “Won’t disagree.”

“You want to talk promises?” Ulysses paused, and Calidus stepped closer. “I want the first shot at Venator. Give me your word. He’s earned a worse death than what I’ll give him, but I want the assurance that he’s gone.” He shook his head. “ _Nothing_ else matters.”

“You have it,” Ulysses said, looking up at him, struck at how much Adal was in him. He managed to shake it off and nod. “Venator is yours. Getting you there is my job.”

Calidus gave him another long look, considering. Finally, he nodded once, turning to leave.

Ulysses let him go. _Nothing else mattered_.

Maybe, in the scope of this war. But as he stared out at the 40, watching the horizon for the first hint of aid, he knew—and feared—that there was so much more to face.


	19. Chapter 19

“You thought him dead already. All I wanted was to shield you from this—”

“You fucking _what?_ ” Adal took a step forward, and the Guard beside Aquilina put a hand on his machete. Even Marius tensed. “You’re going to take him from me _twice?_ ”

“A man you have never met,” Aquilina said. She looked at Rhea a moment, before turning to Marius. “And you? What made you suspect?”

“What else were you going to do with him?” he said, matter-of-fact. “He’s the last rallying point the Legion has, a solid half wanted _him_ to be Legate in Colorado, and he refused to take it from Venator. Of course you’d kill him, if he wouldn’t play your game.”

“He refused to cooperate then, and negotiate now, beyond his wife’s escape. We have few options.”

“Because he _knew_ what would happen when he challenged,” Marius said, indicating the street beyond the machine shop. “It was always going to be his men against Venator’s. Nothing was going to change that.”

“Then if he does not wish to lead, he intends to die, out there,” Aquilina said, grim.

Adal saw Rhea draw back. “And his children? My children? Would you kill this ‘Caesar’ as well, if it ended the Legion?”

“He will come to no harm.” Aquilina said. “I’ve no interest in laying the sins of the father at the feet of either child.”

Rhea looked daggers at Marius, who raised his hands. “I was just trying to get you to—”

Aquilina rounded on him. “What stories have you told them? What lies?”

He took a step back. “Not you in particular! I only wanted her to speak with the Courier. To trust her over the Council. I—”

“And you couldn’t have just _said_?” Rhea shook her head.

“Don’t you dare paint me the villain in this! I have made the hard decision, one I tried to _spare her_ from,” Aquilina said, gesturing at Adal. “ _Every_ decision I have made since I came to this Temple has been to shield the helpless from the Legion, including this one. Don’t you _dare_.”

Marius glanced to the Guard, who eyed who he was arguing with and shrugged. He took a breath to steady himself, but before he could speak, there was a cracking sound outside.

The Limitanei and the other Guard backed down the hall, away from the front of the shop. “Domina, there is another breach in the walls,” Seneca said. “Near to us. I recommend we get belowground.”

Aquilina stepped back, and glanced at the Guard decanus. “Bad place to be, when we blow the charges,” he said. Seneca looked at him more sharply, and he unhooked a device from his belt. “Our backup plan. Once Venator fell on the Temple, we’ve undermined it as heavily as we can. One shot at the best men in his Legion.”

“And you’re _here?_ ” Adal said, waving at a spat of gunfire outside.

“Venator’s searching the city for you himself. Both of you,” he said, with a nod at Rhea. “He knows the Temple is empty.”

Adal closed her eyes, rubbing at them. Godssakes, and the Securitrons were still…

“What’s the word on her? Who are they looking for?”

She glanced over at Peda, then Marius as he said, “Older woman, short black hair, graying. Rifle and a duster. They don’t exactly have pictures to circulate.”

Peda seemed to consider a moment, then nodded. She undid the leather thong at the end of her braid, retying it at the nape of her neck. “Gimme your coat.”

Adal didn’t move. “Don’t you—”

“They want you alive,” Peda said, sawing a knife through her hair, and Fen gasped as she handed her the braid. “If anything, playing at being the Courier makes me safer than being some old tribal.”

Behind her, Celsa was crying openly, a hand over her mouth. Every other eye was on Adal, and she turned to Seneca as she shrugged out of her duster. “You keep her safe.”

“Domina, I will not…”

“You will,” she said, nodding faintly at the girl. “This too, Peda. Might be looking for it.”

Peda weighed the Pip-boy in her hand a moment. Fen set her braid aside and helped her close it on her arm, and Adal let them stand aside, heads together. “What about the rest of us?”

Aquilina glanced at Lucia. “We’re still too far from the walls, if we try to use the streets,” Lucia said, eyes tracking somewhere else as she thought. “Venator has enough men to quarter the city in hours. Best bet is either sit tight, or move into his search, get behind the line.”

“Then we will hold here, until you draw them off,” Aquilina said, nodding to Peda as she and Fen stepped apart. “The faster you can get Venator to the Temple, madam, the more lives you save. We kill the Bull today.”

“And my son?” Adal said, as Peda turned away, the Limitanei behind.

Aquilina said nothing, watching through her veil, and went to comfort Celsa.

***

Ulysses could hear footsteps in the hallway, again. “No sign yet,” he said, expecting Calidus’ runner to turn back.

They didn’t slow. “Tired of waiting,” Calidus said, stepping into the room. “If they’re not here by now, we need to fight without them.”

“Get your men killed,” he said, not looking away from the window.

“They expect to die,” Calidus said. Ulysses turned at him, watched him take a breath and force himself back to calm. “They knew the risks, joining me. And the longer we wait, the better foothold Venator gets in the city. We can’t allow that.”

He looked back out the window. Calidus didn’t wait, turning for the door. “Hold,” Ulysses said, standing.

“We’re moving,” he heard Calidus say.

There was a plume of dust on the horizon, coming along the 40. “See them!”

“Then they can catch up!”

Ulysses stayed where he was, hearing the shouts and tramp of boots as the building emptied. He waited for the sound to fade before gathering his things and going down to the freeway.

It was past noon now, the pavement sending up heat distortion past the horizon, hiding the approaching army. But the column of dust in the air grew closer, and he saw shadows resolve themselves through the ruins and fallen trees—and preceding them, not just the hiss of tires on asphalt, but the steady strike of boots. He almost smiled. No men of the Legion, former or not, would let a machine beat him to a fight.

Aelius, the Limitanei centurion, was at the head of the group as they approached. Behind him, Securitrons rolled between the ranks of his men, and all ground to a stop as he slowed, gesturing them to do the same. Aelius saluted, and Ulysses nodded back. “Good timing, centurion,” he said, giving him a moment to catch his breath. “Expected another day on you. Your men fit to fight?”

“Yes,” he said, still breathing deeply. “We came prepared for war. Is the Courier still alive?”

“To my…” Ulysses trailed off.

One of the machines had rolled up, its screen flickering. The soldier’s face on it disappeared, settling on a drawing that was a mockery of a smile. “Hi there! We haven’t met yet, but my friend’s told me _all_ about you. You can call me Yes Man! Everyone does.”

Ulysses shared a look with Aelius, a long-suffering expression on his face. “This…person…came to our camp, saying the Courier was gravely wounded three days ago, and was sending a contingent to recover her. Two days ago, it received a call from her directly, that we were needed, but we were already past Seligman.”

“Well, you see, here’s the thing,” the machine said, its voice ingratiating, grating, all at the same time. It tapped its claws together, and Ulysses refused to think it could be embarrassed. “She maybe told you about the satellite uplink she has now! Really terrific work, I was so proud of her! But I haven’t got a clear signal from her Pip-boy biometrics in a while, and I’m really worried.”

Another look between the two men, and the centurion just looked more resigned.

“So I thought we could, you know, just come look. Make sure everything’s hunky-dory! But instead, we seem to be in a _wartime situation_.” It bounced on the spot. “Now, Ms. Adal gave me a whole long set of instructions about who I could talk to, and who got to give me orders. I’m a bit more assertive these days, but it’s just…so hard not to help people, sometimes! So she made sure to narrow it right down!” It laughed, metallic and brittle. “She’s sure a clever lady! And you were one of the people she gave authorization to!”

The words took a moment to sink in. “She authorized me…”

“Sure! Your voice matches the holotape records she gave me just perfect,” it said, waving a claw. “It’s very distinctive! You should be proud. And she said…Well, she used some very rude words… She told me to tell you to not make any _silly_ mistakes, commanding her army if she died!”

“ _Died?_ ”

“I mean, I sure hope she hasn’t! That would be a real tragedy!” It sounded cheerful as ever as it went on, “But if she is, the people that did it sure have something coming! _Boy_ would I want them dead. But it’s your call! If she trusts you, _I_ trust you.”

Dead. _Died._ The walls to the city crumbling…

“Calidus and his men are ahead of us,” Ulysses said, turning back towards Flagstaff. “Need to get them through to Venator.”

“The Praetorian?” Aelius moved to keep pace. “He’s broken with him? Why?”

“He's the Courier’s son,” Ulysses said, and was rewarded with seeing him stumble, almost missing a step in surprise. “Too much to explain now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aelius shake his head, saving his breath to pick up speed.

***

Marius kept his head up as he ran, watching the streets. Flagstaff’s civilians had lived with the Legion long enough to go to ground rather than panic in the open, and he could hear the Legionaries shouting, trying to coordinate, Peda’s rifle sounding off at intervals a few streets over.

“The tower, there!” the Guard decanus, Columba, yelled. The Limitanei sniper called acknowledgment, and Marius looked up. What had been a long, rectangular building had had its center section collapse decades ago, and either end had long since been rebuilt into a free-standing tower with a view of the Temple. He kept a step behind the other two, eyes open, and was first to see the squad headed for the sound of the fight behind them.

The man in the lead did a double-take, slowing at the sight of the others in black and blue. “Take out the Courier!” Marius yelled, gesturing frantically. “I have these ones!”

The rest of his squad was still moving, and Marius turned and sprinted to catch up. No gunshots followed, and he paused just inside the base of the tower, catching his breath. Columba had even pulled his scarf down to breathe easier. “Go get your coin back then, if we survive,” he said, and almost winked at the sniper. “No women in the Guard.”

Marcus looked baffled, but nodded. Marius gestured the three of them up the stairs, and they made the last slog to an upper floor, looking out over the Temple. Leaning out the window, Marius could see the confused red tide moving through the city—and not nearly enough of it was in the grounds. “Where is she?”

“Don’t have sight of her,” Marcus said, not bothering with his scope.

“Mars’ name, she had better hurry,” Columba said. “The more she stalls, the more chance they catch her, or the Courier.”

“No chance someone will set off the explosives before we do?” Marius said.

Columba waved the detonator. “Only had two made. If Caius didn’t beat me here, he’s not coming.”

Marius felt the rotten wood of the window frame start to crumble under his grip. He brushed it off his hands as he stepped back. He willed Peda to appear, that Calidus and his men would storm through to challenge the Legate, that the Courier’s army would arrive…

Anything, to prove this wasn’t all for naught.

“I have her. On the green,” Marcus said, pointing. Marius stepped up behind him to follow along his hand. Four figures were coming around a building, one in a duster, the other three in Limitanei blue. They moved as a unit, covering each other’s advance—and shooting any Legionary who came in sight.

“Not much of a tail,” Columba said. “She’s got them cautious. What, is she trying to kill the rest of the Legion herself?”

“Probably,” Marius said, absently. It wasn’t going to work. He knew how far the undermining went, the explosives, the degree of ruin the Temple was willing to accept—and there weren’t nearly enough men in range for it to mean a damn. He put a hand to his forehead, teeth clenched. Too much trust. Too much trust in strangers, in people breaking how he expected, people he no longer knew. Too much trust in—

“What’s she doing?” Marcus said, tracking with this scope.

“Climbing,” Columba said.

Marius looked up. Peda was scaling the building next to them, the next tallest in sight. The front was built in a few deep steps, facing the rest of the Temple campus. He saw her reach the first step, the Limitanei close behind.

“You want me, Legate?” he heard Peda shout, voice slurred and muffled by her jaw. “Here I am! You got the guts to face me?”

***

Adal peeked out the window of the bay door, to the road. Legionaries were breaking down the door of a building up the street. “We ain’t got long,” she said, turning back.

The others were lowering a piece of machinery over the tunnel entrance, Lucia and the remaining Guard taking most of the weight. As they stepped back, there was a pounding noise from under the concrete slab, and muffled voices shouting back and forth. “What’s our next move?” Rhea said, brushing her hands off.

Adal counted the group, biting the inside of her cheek. Eight, counting her, and the two kids. “We might split up. We just have to stay hid until Peda gets her part done. But you’n I get caught before that, it’s over.”

She looked to Aquilina, who nodded. “Atella, if you and I stay behind, we can stall the search.”

Celsa took Fen’s hand and seemed ready to speak up, but Fen closed her own over it. “They’ll be looking for priestesses. We can buy you time.”

There was a sharp _bang_ from outside, the sound of a door slamming. “Get going,” Aquilina said, gesturing the others to the back room. “Attis, stay with us. Lucia, please cover them.”

Lucia nodded, checking the safety on her rifle. As she passed, Paz grabbed the edge of her coat. “I wanna go with Mistress Adal.”

“Stay here, Paz,” Lucia said. “You’ll be safer.”

“No!” She stuck her lip out. “It’s boring here, an’…”

The back door rattled, the pile of toolboxes they’d leaned against it not budging. Adal reached out, and Paz ran over, letting her scoop her up onto her hip. Adal grimaced at the weight, but leaned on her cane, headed for a side door as the others followed. Paz got her arms around her neck, holding on as Adal peeked out. The alley was empty, and she held the door, waving for Lucia to go first.

She swept the alley before trotting to the corner, crouching as she peered around it. Rhea tiptoed past Adal, and slowed the door as it shut. “Which way are they coming from?” she asked, leaning close to Adal’s ear.

Adal grimaced and pointed at the building they had left, indicating both sides of it. Ahead, Lucia had stood, tiptoeing back towards them. “Gave up on that door, but left a guard,” she said. “They’ll go in the front, we can slip past behind them.”

“Where are we gonna…” Paz started, wide-eyed. Adal shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips. Paz mimicked it back, holding on again as Adal followed the others to the opposite corner.

She could hear them kicking at the door, heard the glass shatter and the crunch of boots walking over it. Lucia had a closed fist raised, stock-still, until the last set of footsteps had entered the building. Waving them on, she kept low, rifle in hand as they hurried up the street. Adal tried to muffle the strike of her cane, bare metal clanking on the pavement, breathing through clenched teeth. Both doors to the next building were kicked in, laying half-fallen in the shop’s vestibule. Lucia waved the two of them in, keeping watch on the machine shop they had left.

Adal had to set Paz down, and Rhea passed her her son, picking up her robe as she stepped over twisted metal and broken glass. Paz scrambled through on her own, ducking under the mess. Adal glanced back at the building, hearing shouts inside. She gripped the end of her cane tighter, the edge of the pipe biting into her palm, could hear Fen pleading for—

“ _No._ Ma,” the boy said, pushing away from Adal. Rhea turned back, still picking her way through the tangle of sharp edges. Adal shushed him, trying to hold him closer, but he whined, smacking chubby hands on her armor. He squirmed nearly out of her arms, reaching for his mother. “Ma. _Ma!_ ” he wailed, starting to cry in earnest.

Adal glanced at the machine shop, trying to step over the first of the doors. Rhea reached out, wincing as her leg caught on a piece of glass, but had gone just too far to get a safe grip.

“Company!” Lucia shouted, and her rifle sounded off. Adal dropped her cane and threw the boy to Rhea, bringing her own weapon to bear. Legionaries were swarming out of the building across the road, more joining them from the next street over. Lucia flinched, a bullet zinging past her and into the side of the building as she tried to back inside.

Adal pushed past, putting herself between her and the Legionaries. The ones in the front row shouted to hold fire, and a silence fell, cut only by Hastus still crying behind her. Looking aside, she saw the priestesses being walked out of the other building.

The head Legionary didn’t say a word. He looked her in the eye as he took his gun from Celsa’s back, pressing it to her head. She closed her eyes, sobbing without making a noise.

Adal slung her rifle and raised her hands. “I surrender.”

***

“Come on! Too coward to take me?”

A crowd of Legion had gathered between the Temple buildings, watching Peda pace back and forth on the ledge. No shots had been fired, even at the Limitanei, and all of them were tense, waiting. Marius could make out a figure with a black-crested helmet in the calm, unmoving eye of the mass of red. No Praetorians stood with him, that he could tell, but he could pick out heavily armored veterans surrounding him.

“I see Venator,” Marcus said. “I can take the shot.”

Marius hesitated. Something was… “Do it,” he said anyway. “Columba?”

He had already flipped a switch on the detonator, finger hovering over a button. “Ready.”

Marius searched the men below. They were quiet now, with just a stirring at the back of the crowd. This wasn’t right, somehow, something—

Beside him, Marcus fired, the Legate staggered—but stayed standing. “Fuck— _moved_ —”

“I’m taking it down,” Columba said, all too calm.

Marius saw Venator throw up his arm at Peda, and every rifle in the Legion opened fire on her.

Time slowed. Venator knew.

He looked to the group at the back, the only ones moving, Aura and Adal walked before the Legate with their hands raised.

“ _Stop!_ ” Marius lunged at Columba, who pulled away in reflex, reached for—

He didn’t hear the button press, but there was a horrible cracking sound from the grounds below. He watched, as with almost deliberate slowness, dirt heaved up on the edges of the Temple, the ground between starting to sink, swallowing up trees and buildings and men. Fissures grew, spread, as the Legion tried to run, only to have the ground go out from under them, vanishing under tons of earth. Buildings listed, leaned—and fell, steel screeching like tortured ghosts, the shatter of glass utterly lost in the cacophony, brick crashing to ground with deafening force, sending vibrations up through the tower.

He saw the fissures spreading out onto the road below—but they were out of the zone, they were safe, they were—

The tower started to topple, and there was nowhere left to run.


	20. Chapter 20

The last of Calidus’ men hesitated, standing in the breach of the wall. Ulysses saw him bring a gun to hand, and lengthened his stride, leading the group in. “Hold back,” Ulysses said. “We’ll join you to the front.”

The straggler nodded, jogging through the gap. Ulysses led the Limitanei through, Aelius a step behind, ignoring the veterans’ guarded looks. Calidus stood in the street ahead, at the bottom of the slope of rubble, arms folded. He frowned as he looked over the reinforcements, and his expression lightened slightly as he looked over Ulysses’ shoulder. “We served together in El Paso.”

“Marcus Aelius. White Sands.” The centurion almost saluted, outranked by a Praetorian.

“I recall. Your aid is appreciated.” Calidus extended a hand—unarmored left, an equal’s greeting. “We need to find the fight. How many men…”

He trailed off. Ulysses followed his gaze to the first Securitron rolling through the gap. The men pulled back from it, muttering. “And how many machines?” Calidus finished, nonplussed.

Ulysses half-listened as Aelius filled him in, watching the men. Both groups edged away from the Securitrons, but refused to mingle with each other—until one of the Limitanei called a name, and got a surprised response from a veteran in red. More greetings were made, more faces recognized, and gradually he saw ammunition trading hands, healing supplies redistributed between them.

Aelius was wrapping up his briefing, and Ulysses started to turn back—and flat _thump_ shook the ground, so low Ulysses could feel it in his chest. To a man, the group looked to the city center and the Temple, a plume of dust rising over the buildings, a cracking, crumbling noise following it.

_—red dust of the Divide spewing from cracks in the ground_ for just a second, like claws in the nerves in the back of his neck—

Adal.

Calidus was already running. Ulysses forced himself to move, keeping ahead of the reinforcements behind him.

_Adal._

***

Dirt had piled against Adal’s back, and she waited for the world to stop shifting before she opened her eyes. Her entire body hurt as she uncurled herself from around Paz, stroking at her hair as she asked if she was hurt, unable to hear her own voice over the ringing in her ears. Eyes wide and staring, Paz seemed to come to her senses as Adal dug herself out, pushing dirt off her legs and helping her to stand.

They were in the middle of a sinkhole, two or three times her height. Little debris had reached them here, but on the edges of the pit, buildings had fallen, crumpled and broken, still groaning faintly as they settled. Nearer to them, she could make out stunned Legionaries digging themselves free, and she staggered after Paz to where Aquilina was buried to the waist, digging frantically with one eye on the nearest man.

“The rest were behind us,” Aquilina said, leaning close to her ear and nearly shouting. Adal nodded, getting a grip on her arms so she had leverage to climb, and they leaned on each other as they turned back. Part of the tunnel system stuck out of the rubble, metal walls of the original sewers twisted and broken as the earth shifted. One of the panels was rattling, and the two of them managed to shift it aside, Rhea pushing from under it. Looking behind her, Adal felt a little tension leave her chest. Fen and Celsa were tucked into the hollow behind her, with Hastus between them, screaming blue murder.

It took both of them to help Rhea climb up. “I don’t know where Lucia is, they separated her from us,” she said as she reached down to take her son from Celsa. “Are you alright?”

Adal had stayed kneeling as they helped Celsa up, breathing hard, edges of her vision going dark. She nodded vaguely and touched her ear, hearing coming back in the left, the right still full of a dull ringing. Aquilina reached out, trying to help her stand. “We need to get out of here, you especially. You need—”

Her eyes went wide, looking over Adal’s shoulder. Before she could turn, Adal was jerked back, the neck of her armor biting into her throat. Her leg buckled as she fought to stand, and she froze, staring up the barrels of the guns trained on her head. From the corner of her eye, she could see the other women stepping away, hands raised, machetes and guns alike leveled at them.

“Call this war, priestess?” The Legionaries parted, and Venator approached, holding pressure on a bleeding arm. “You and Hanlon both, smart enough to know you can’t face the Legion head-on, but too stupid to realize you can’t _win_.”

“I beg to differ, Legate,” Aquilina said, back straight, unbothered by the weapons pointed at her. Rhea shifted subtly, putting herself in the line of fire, and a few guns wavered. Aquilina put her hand on her shoulder. “Hanlon won his battle. As have we.”

“They have yet to face _my_ Legion,” he sneered. “If you won’t recognize defeat, I’ll teach it it you,” Venator slung the thermic lance off his back—and hesitated, with a glance at Rhea. He pointed to the man closest to Aquilina. “You. Cassian. Bring the priestess forward.”

***

The road leading to the Temple grounds was cracked and heaved, buildings listing in the ground. Ulysses saw Legionaries in the streets as they neared, and drew his gun—but they were making no great speed towards the explosion, looking to each other for reassurance. Their drive was gone, with no officers to issue orders, their more experienced men wherever Venator was.

Or behind him, backing Calidus.

“Fall in. We’re retaking the Temple,” Calidus shouted, as soon as they were in earshot. The Legionaries took one look at the men at his back and let themselves be overtaken, hands off their weapons as they were absorbed into the crush.

More turned at the sound of their approach—too many to call out to, too many to sway. Shots were exchanged, Legionaries and defectors alike falling to cover, or drawing machetes to rush ahead. Behind him, he heard shouts as squads broke off to flank, trying to cut off their attackers and find another route to the grounds.

Ulysses moved cover to cover, advancing alongside Aelius, the centurion making efficient work with an assault carbine. He caught glimpses of the front rank, skirmishers buckling as Calidus’ men forged ahead, but their gunners were finding position. Leaning against a heave in the pavement with his rifle, Ulysses accounted for a sniper crouching on a roof, sighted on another—and instinctively ducked at the thump and rattle of grenade launchers firing. The Securitrons were taking up a second line, firing over the melee. They didn’t hesitate as bullets pinged off them, and he heard panic grow in the Legionaries.

“They’re breaking through,” Aelius said, but hesitated as he leaned back behind cover. “They have priestesses—”

“What degree of hostage casualties are you willing to accept?” The Yes Man machine had hung back with them. “I need an answer very fast! If you’d be so kind.”

Adal was in that ruin somewhere, and the words _as many as necessary_ were on his tongue. Aelius was watching him, ready for whatever order came, but Calidus—

“You fear us so greatly? Won’t face us head-on?”

Ulysses leaned around his blind. Adal’s son, even after everything, Calidus had hesitated in cover rather than press the line of Legion ahead, the ones front and center holding blades to the priestesses’ throats. He saw him bare his teeth, and the Legionaries tensed, a knife lifting.

Ulysses didn’t take his eyes from the standoff. “None. Pull the machines back, keep them with the ones flanking,” he said, lining up a shot on one of the hostage-takers.

“—hide behind women rather than fight like men! _That_ is the leader you serve?”

He saw the looks between the Legionaries; discontent. The man holding the priestess raised his blade, and Ulysses took the shot, the priestess flinching away as his head was reduced to spatter. Behind her, one of the men raised a machete—and swung at another man who grabbed for her.

Chaos erupted in the Legion side, and Calidus surged ahead, the veterans at his back. Ulysses gestured Aelius on. “Follow! Get to Venator!” He turned to the machine that lingered with him. “Where is Adal?”

***

“Cassian?” The Legionary hesitated as he stepped close, hardly more than a boy. Aquilina looked levelly at him, veil lost in the turmoil. “You were raised in this very Temple. You came to me with a broken wrist once. Had fallen while climbing, and refused treatment, because you thought you earned the pain.”

He froze, looking to the fuming Venator. “Kill her. Prove your loyalty.”

“He will not,” Aquilina said, keeping Rhea from intervening. “You know this man is a fraud, Cassian. His new Caesar is his Praetorian’s stolen son, not a gift from Mars. We are the ones—”

“ _Kill her!_ ” Venator roared, at no Legionary in particular. They hesitated—the young men did, Adal realized in a rush, it was only the older men who raised their guns—and Cassian, the younger man, stepped between them and Aquilina.

Venator drew breath to shout again, lance in hand—and stopped. The sound of gunfire and explosions were approaching the Temple grounds. The Legionaries lining the pit were turning away, a few breaking off to charge.

***

“Well, I have good news, and _bad_ news,” the machine said brightly. “I have a read on her Pip-boy signal again! But she’s not the one wearing it. I’d like to get to the bottom of that, while they’re still alive to question!”

“Get me there.”

Its screen flickered, the soldier’s face replacing the gurning smile. The tone of the fight shifted as the Legion tore at itself, the reinforcements wading in and pressing to the Temple. Ulysses followed the machine through the crush, leaving as much of the fighting to the others as he could for speed, only opening fire on those Legionaries who tried to block his approach. Another Securitron joined him, a third, shielding him from sight as he ran across the fallen facade of a building, giving him vantage on the fight.

The near edge of the Temple grounds were in ruin, a tangle of fallen buildings and open pits. He could see the ebb and flow of combat around them, the blue-and-brown of the Limitanei and Adal’s machines gaining inches on the swathe of Legion red—something left to defend in the ruins, then, some leader, some prize. He reached the end of the rubble, dropping back to street level. But rather than head into the thick of it, the machine leading him was still pushing north, past a listed tower and deeper into the ruins. It hesitated on the edge of a fissure in the asphalt, and a machine detouring around it turned back, its screen flickering back to the Yes Man face as it waved a claw.

He got up speed to leap the gap, heart beating like a triphammer. He could see her in the rubble, Marius and Seneca levering a beam that held her pinned—but it was Peda, wearing Adal’s duster, coughing as she pulled herself out from under the debris. A Securitron rolled past him, wheel skidding on the remains of the building’s face, and hauled her upright by the Pip-boy on her arm. “Why hi! You don’t know me, but have I got a _bunch_ of questions—”

Seneca had drawn his gun, and Marius stepped between them. Neither noticed Ulysses until he grabbed the machine by the claw. “Let her go.”

It dropped her on her feet, and Peda staggered as she brought her rifle halfway up. “Who’s your friend?” she said, giving Ulysses a look.

He just gestured back at the road. The Securitrons had broken up, a few to each group of men, firing over them with explosives or pushing to the front line with more conventional weapons. “Where is Adal?”

“Venator had her,” Marius said. Blood was running from a gash on his forehead, and he moved with a limp down the pile of debris. “She’s in the middle of that mess, Marcus was injured so we left him in the tower to cover us, but—”

“Needed backup to get in there,” Columba finished, giving Fulvius a hand up.

“We’re it,” Ulysses said. The others nodded, drawing weapons as Marius led them towards the ruins of the Temple. Coming around the edge of the sinkhole, Ulysses caught glimpses of priestesses being backed against far side, a crowd of Legion between them. He searched for Adal among them, looking for her duster—but no, Peda wore it, so what was she—

Legionaries saw them incoming, and moved to defend. Ulysses slung his rifle up and staff down, moving almost in step with Seneca as they hit their frontrunners. Upswing, throwing a man’s machete aside; downswing, meeting his skull with a _crack_ that felled him. Another was ready to take his place, skipping back out of his reach as he brought a shotgun up. Ulysses lunged, trying to close the gap, but a boot snagged on the fallen corpse. Time slowed, and he stared down the shotgun’s barrel—

The Legionary jerked back, giving the cluster of bullet holes in his chest an almost puzzled look as he fell. Ulysses glanced back, and Peda gestured with her gun to keep moving.

The incoming reinforcements had drawn the battle away from them, Legionaries too disorganized to do anything but throw themselves between the Limitanei and Venator. Stragglers were holding a defensive line around one of the sinkholes, and a few took notice as they circled wide around it—and turned away as a rush of men in red broke through with a roar, Calidus at their head.

***

“What is this?” Venator said, stepping away from Aquilina. “One of you, what in Mars’ name—”

The defenders at the top of the pit crumpled, a group of Legionaries forcing their way down the slope and into the sinkhole. Venator’s survivors hesitated, the newcomers all in red—and paid for it, the tall man leading them felling one of them with a single blow of a ballistic fist.

“Take them out!” Venator’s men rallied around him as he raised his lance, returning the charge.

The man with Adal’s rifle wavered, and she kicked out with her good leg, his knee flexing the wrong direction with a _crunch_. He fell, and the other just had time to level his gun at her before a burst of fire from Cassian took him down. He trained it on the fallen one, who snarled and spat, “True to Caesar,” as he drew his machete—and before he could fire, took himself out of the fight.

Adal nodded to Cassian, untangling the strap of her rifle from the dead man’s armor. Still kneeling, she half-raised it, but the mass of red-on-red made it impossible to pick out friend from foe. A head above the others, the Praetorian in the middle of it all was trying to break through Venator’s ranks, more men dropping from the edge of the sinkhole to join the Legionaries. One rushed his back, and Adal took aim, dropping him with a single shot. The Praetorian glanced to where it had come from, to her—and for the skin of a second, he looked at her and she at him.

The Praetorian, Calidus.

_Ches_.

A Legionary stepped around to his unprotected back, sinking a machete between his ribs. Calidus snarled as he ripped it free, turning to bury it in his attacker’s neck and throw himself back into the fight.

***

At their fore, Seneca waved them down into a fissure, hiding their group from view as they approached. Ulysses looked over them as they ran. “Columba, Marius—” the lightest of them, and one too injured to fight, “—get to the ledge, get Adal and the ones with her up to us.” They both nodded, Marius gritting his teeth as he kept pace. “Peda—”

She gave him a pointed look, slotting a fresh clip into her gun. “I’ll get vantage and cover them.”

He just nodded. “Seneca, your men and I watch their backs.”

“Yes, sir,” echoed crisply by the other two.

A look back saw two Securitrons trailing them. “No Legion reaches that ledge,” he said.

“Affirmative.” The screen on one rolled like a shutter, the Yes Man personality taking over. “Wow, Ms. Adal picked some really _killer_ friends! Ha ha! You're like a well-oiled machine—and I would know!”

Peda made a choking sound. Glances were exchanged, but none of them had a ready comment. “Nearing the edge,” Columba said, poking his head over the lip of the fissure. “We’re on.”

He and Marius vaulted over, and Ulysses led the rest to the far side. What had been a low hall was half-sunken into the ground ahead of them, still creaking as it settled, but its bulk was good enough cover for now. Ulysses allowed himself one look back towards the fight, took in the free-for-all in the middle of the sinkhole. Adal was nowhere in sight—let her be too close to the edge for him to see, he prayed to no gods but for now—and turned away.

They kept low, using the wreckage of the Temple for cover. Peda had found a perch along a broken, slanted wall, leveling her rifle at the sinkhole. The machines were not so discreet, too large and awkward to conceal themselves, and Ulysses found himself looking back again, hoping to see Adal, anyone...

Marius was kneeling, braced on the crumbling edge, and with a heave, dragged Columba partway up. He grabbed the girl clinging to his hand, dropping her with little ceremony before Columba’s momentum brought him back down. The girl’s lip shook, and Ulysses caught her eye, making a shushing gesture. She mimicked it, hesitantly, and stayed hunkered where she was.

***

Adal glanced over at the others. At the nearest edge of the sinkhole, Marius had lowered Columba partway down the side, swinging Paz up by one hand. The priestesses were clustered under them, looking nervously back at the fight. Rhea stepped away, seeing her look. “Come on,” she said, taking Adal’s arm. “You go next.”

She tuned her head, listening with her better ear, and a movement caught her eye. She fired as a man noticed Celsa being lifted up by the others, and shook her head. “I’ll stay and cover you.”

“Venator wants you alive,” she said, trying to pull her away. “We can’t—”

“Can’t climb,” Adal said shortly. She nodded to the boy, slung in Rhea’s stole and clinging to her desperately. “Get up there. Get the kids somewhere safe.”

Venator had stepped back from the fray, on the far side of the pit. He saw her try and line up a shot, grabbing a man—impossible to tell if it was one of his own—and jerking him into her line of fire. As he did, he reeled, and Adal saw him holding his side, turning to look at a half-fallen tower above the wreckage. She sighted on him again, and he threw his helmet aside, the end of his thermic lance sparking as he waded back into the fight.

***

“Can you get the robots out of sight?” Peda’s voice was almost conversational, and Ulysses glanced up before following her gaze. Legionaries had followed the edge of the sinkhole around the way they had come, looking for a way down. One group had hesitated, facing their way, and Peda pressed herself closer to the wall. “I’ll get one shot off, then it’s no bets. Be ready.”

Movement at the ledge, a young woman scrabbling at bricks as she tried to haul herself over. Fulvius, closest to them, helped Marius drag her up and into cover—and the Legionaries started to move, one raising a machete to point. One stepped up into a jog, past the others—a centurion, with a heavy machine gun slung on his shoulder.

Two rounds from Peda, and the centurion staggered—but caught his feet, raising his gun. Peda dropped as the barrels spun up, landing hard and rolling poorly on the mess of debris as he fired. “Fine, I’m fine,” she grated, as Ulysses moved to help her up. She waved him away. “They know we’re here, get ready!” 

One of the Securitrons was already moving up to intercept. He could hear the Legion squad coming around a shattered building, and a glance saw more of them following their charge. Taking a breath, Ulysses shared a look with the Limitanei. Seneca nodded back, coolly. “It has been an honor.”

***

Adal swore to herself, losing Venator in the crush. She turned back to the others, Rhea a step away, a hand extended, torn. Celsa was up on the ledge, leaning down beside Marius to reach for Aquilina’s hand—and Paz shook her shoulder, dancing on the spot. Celsa looked back and stood abruptly, saying something to Marius. He swung Columba up without a word, the Guard decanus losing his grip on the priestess’s wrist. Fen almost fell as she tried to catch her, and Rhea rushed over to help.

Adal could feel her heartbeat in her ears, the empty roar in the one so profound she couldn't hear the fight. She gritted her teeth, pushing herself to her feet. Could at least put the wall at her—

White-hot pain shot through her back, so fast and harsh she couldn’t even scream. Adal fell to all fours, struggling to take a breath, but another bolt of pain was in her side, crackling and arcing through her armor as her attacker flipped her onto her back. All she could do was stare, and Venator snarled down at her, ready to drive the thermic lance down at her face.

Adal was too slow to roll away, stunned—but Venator’s head snapped aside, the cinder block jarred out of Aquilina’s hands. Venator slammed the butt of the weapon into her gut, hard enough to send her sprawling. Behind her, the remaining Legionaries cut down the rest of their opposition, warily approaching one last man staggering toward their Legate.

Calidus could barely stand, a hand clamped over the wound in his side, air bubbling out around it. Venator waved at his men as he approached. “No. Let him try.”

The Legionaries stepped away, standing guard over Adal and the priestesses. Venator leaned on his lance, unbothered, as Calidus finally fell to his knees, veins standing out on his neck with the effort of drawing a breath. “You could have prevented all this, Cal,” Venator said, a sneer in his voice. “But you didn’t want to get good men killed. Nice work,” he said, gesturing to the destruction around him. His eyes lingered on the edge of the pit—and how close the sound of the fight was. He glanced at Adal. “We’ll get to you women,” he said, and ignited the tip of the lance. “But I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

Adal shut her eyes, gritting her teeth as he jammed it against his neck, just above the edge of his armor. She could smell it as the lance crackled and spat, the ozone sting mixing with burning flesh, making her want to gag. She couldn’t move, for the pain in her legs, her back, and her son, Calidus, Ches—

“Still alive? Credit where it’s due, I’m impressed.” She looked over to see him nudge him with a boot. Laying on his side, Calidus didn’t react. “But not for long, I think. I’m glad you get to watch, Cal. This is what your _sentiment_ gets you. Give me the boy.” Rhea backed away as he turned towards her, and Venator waved for the man holding her to step aside.

Adal looked above her to the edge of the pit, the sound of the battle above still raging, but Marius was gone. Her gun had been kicked away, a man standing between it and her. Her pistol was gone, there was only the knife in her belt— 

“Why did you have to make this so difficult, Aura?” Venator slung the lance, drawing a machete. She nearly had her back to the wall of the pit, the debris giving her slightly higher footing. “I was going to have had you _deified_. Do you understand that? The only woman the Legion would worship, the Mother of Mars.” He shook his head. “But you are just too much trouble to keep around. _Give me the boy._ ”

Her son was too exhausted to cry, and she cradled him closer with one hand, turning away. Venator kept advancing. “Come on. Wouldn’t want your last act to get him hurt, as I take him from you.” She pressed closer to the wall, refusing to look at him. “Using your own son as a human shield, Aura, I’m disappointed.”

He was barely two paces from her now, and Adal glanced at the men surrounding them. She tried to shift her feet under her to rise, a hand on her knife, but one noticed, raising his weapon. All she could do was grind her teeth and feel tears in her eyes.

“Tell me,” Venator said, stopping just in reach of Rhea. “What does it feel like, knowing you are about to die?”

She looked at him, holding her son with one arm, the other hidden against the wall. “I wouldn’t know.”

Rhea had the pistol up, point blank before Venator could even look down. The first round would have been enough, tearing out the back of his skull, but she kept pulling the trigger as he fell, until the slide locked open, clip empty. Even the battle above seemed to go silent, none of the Legionaries around them daring to draw breath.

Looking down at him, Rhea spat on his corpse, little more than pulp above the neck, and tried to quiet her crying son.

The surviving Legionaries looked to each other, lowering their weapons in shock. One made a start towards Rhea, and a shot from the edge of the pit took him down, men in Limitanei blue dropping into the sinkhole. Some of the Legionaries raised weapons, trying to fight back—and nearly as many drew their own machetes, one last time, rather than submit.

In the confusion, Adal got to her hands and knees, crawling to Calidus’ side, legs too weak to rise. “No. No, please.” Adal pressed her hand to the wound in his side, trying to stop the air gurgling through it, and his eyes almost opened. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be alright. Please…” She patted down her pockets. A bandage, a stimpak, anything—but she came up empty, her pack gone, her duster with Peda.

The quiet above made her look up, explosion and gunfire fading. More Limitanei were standing on the lip of the sinkhole, the ones below standing guard over a handful of Legion prisoners, or checking the bodies for survivors. She heard more calling counts of the wounded, for healers, too far off for her to care.

A few paces away, Aquilina was looking down at her, sorrow in her eyes even as she stood firm. “You just gonna let this happen?” Adal said, in too much pain to shout. “You gonna make me watch my son die?”

“I am _sorry,_ madam,” Aquilina said, and Adal wanted to believe it, “but this is beyond you and your son. The Legion would only look to him once more, should he live.”

“The hell do you know about him?” Her voice was raw.

“I ask the same of you, Courier.”

Adal’s jaw worked. Rhea, was standing just off Aquilina’s shoulder, her son quiet in her arms. “This a man you think deserves to die? One who’d lead these monsters?” She looked down. His lips were bluish, and she couldn’t tell if his chest was moving. Adal drew her knife, uncertainly, there was something about letting the air out of a wound like this—

“Leave him, Courier. This has to happen.” Aquilina said. “You know the stakes in this, that the Legion—”

“This ain’t about the Legion now.”

“It has _only_ ever been about the Legion.”

She wanted to scream at her, with all the old, broken rage trying to climb out her throat. But with her wounds, her weariness, it came out as a harsh sob as she lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Ches,” she whispered. He didn’t react as she dropped the knife, stroking his face with her hand. “I’m sorry…”

She glanced over at movement, her grandson set next to her. “Hold here. Tighter,” Rhea said, pressing Adal’s hand more firmly on the wound even as she felt for the pulse in his neck. She took Adal’s knife, tearing a hole in the side of his tunic.

“Aura, you understand—”

“That’s not my name,” she said, not looking up. Rhea set the tip of the knife carefully, and a quick thrust drew a hiss of air. Calidus grimaced, faintly—and tried to take a breath.

Adal’s heart was trying to beat out of her chest. “Is he—”

“This isn’t enough,” Rhea murmured. “I’ve bought him time, but this needs surgery.”

Securitrons were dropping into the sinkhole, coming around to flank her, leaving a gap between her and the priestess. She could make out Limitanei among them, Aelius somewhere in the corner of her vision. But Adal kept her eyes on Calidus’ chest, he was breathing, barely, he was going to live—and the thought put a fire in her, and she bared her teeth as she looked up. “Your council didn’t want to make an enemy of me, Priestess. How far do you think you’ll get?”

“You wouldn’t,” Aquilina said. Guards were forming up alongside her, abandoning the dead on the battlefield or dropping down to join them. A bedraggled Lucia stood at her left, rifle held a little too high.

Adal looked up at her, unarmed and grim. Behind her, she heard the whir of the Securitrons change, the Limitanei shift the grip on their weapons. “Try me.”

Columba limped up beside the priestess, with a bloody machete, and the Guards tensed. Aquilina stared back, steady. “You know what would become of the Mojave, without you. Madam, you would _never_ allow it.”

The Securitrons were rolling aside for a set of footsteps. Ulysses had a spatter of blood across his duster, but seemed unhurt, stepping into the no man’s land between her and the priestess. Aquilina’s expression went a little colder as she looked at him, and he at her. “I have no words for you,” she said.

He shook his head. “Nor should you,” he said. “But we know where this began. Were there at the start.”

“No thanks to you.” She didn’t move, upright, even the dirt on her robe seeming to be a conscious choice. “This could have ended before it began, had I stopped you at the first.”

“Would that you had.” Ulysses knelt before her, bowing his head. “In that moment, lost to time…Yours was the right decision. To stand against them, to fight, you saw the truths I was blinded to, by pride. Drowned out by fools like me. And now…Won’t beg forgiveness from you. Just the right decision. Could have changed the course of history, then, can do it again here, now.”

“So sure of yourself,” Aquilina said. “By the time _you_ were prepared to fight? Nothing could have changed what happened, unless we sought _more_ of our people dead. We were doomed as soon as you brought them to us.” She shook her head, bitter. “You never came here for nations. The _history_ you know, you worship, has always been dead old men and war. The long look back, the one ignoring the lives between, the ones who weren’t generals and warlords. Now you plead for one man’s life for _her_ sake, hypocrite, you who brought death to so many other mothers and sons.”

“And I come here to set that right,” he said, and Adal saw him look back to her, if only for a second. “Hard lessons brought us all here. Ones that broke us, ones that should have killed, yet we lived on… Lessons that asked us to change. To understand. Chances given that were never earned—or paid for in the work that came after. Work that may never cease, yet we are still bound to.

“One right decision, Priestess. It is the only thing I will ever beg of you.”

She seemed to waver, her face softening ever so slightly—but it became something weary as she shook her head. “Before even us, the Legion began in slaughter, in death. Now let it die, with him. _That_ is my right decision.”

Ulysses almost raised his head, and Adal could see the thoughts turning over, the indecision on his face. It shifted to bitterness, defeat, and he turned away, head still low.

“You think so, priestess?” Adal said, and Aquilina’s gaze came back to her. “There’s no endings in this. Things end today, then what’s tomorrow? Or the day after? Everyone alive here has to face it. You’n me included. Vegas and Flagstaff, and both’ll live longer at each other’s backs instead of each other’s throats.”

Ulysses had turned to listen, and Adal looked at him as she tried to find the words. “You’re right. Damn you to hell, you’re right, I can’t put the Mojave on the line, because everyone there has a _tomorrow_ that _I_ got to worry about.” Aquilina was watching her, unreadable, and Adal met her eyes. “You want to break the Bull? Spare the helpless from it, the next ones to come? Then don’t do as it would. _Mercy_. Mercy, priestess. Let the Legion end with you _saving_ a life, instead of _taking_ one.”

“And him?” with a nod at Calidus. “You think he will share your sentiment?”

Hope rose in her chest, almost cutting off the words, but…

Eighteen years…

“He will, Priestess.”

Rhea’s voice was quiet, almost lost in the distance between them, and Adal wondered that Aquilina even heard. But she looked at her a long moment—too long, with a man laying there dying, and Adal almost drew breath to scream—and turned to Columba. “Some of the barracks should still be standing, get him to the nearest. Send someone to recover everything they can from my infirmary.”

Adal gestured for the Securitrons to stand down as the Guards stepped forward, carrying him away. Aquilina gave Adal one last, long look before turning to follow. Rhea stayed beside her, but before she could speak, a Securitron rolled closer. “It’s sure been a crazy day! I’m _so_ glad you’re not dead.”

“Me too,” was all she could manage. Adal got a grip on Yes Man’s proffered arm, and Rhea helped her to her feet. She gave way to Ulysses as she picked up her son, and Ulysses took her weight on her other side, reaching to cup her cheek in a hand. She closed her eyes and leaned into it, the cold flush of adrenaline down her back fading, and every wound making itself known. More footsteps were approaching, and she straightened as he let go. “Status report?”

“Only two units a total loss, ten will be functional shortly,” Yes Man said. “The rest are raring to go and awaiting new commands, ma’am! But first, you need medical attention.”

“You do,” Ulysses murmured, and she didn’t have the breath to rib him for agreeing. “Limitanei have healers.”

She looked over at Aelius, consulting with one of his runners. He saluted as he turned to her. “Minimal casualties, Domina. We will be establishing a camp in the ruins outside the walls. We can withdraw there, and see you to aid.”

Adal shook her head. “Call all your men here, centurion, we’re in friendly territory. Assist the Temple however you can, defer to the Guard. See to the wounded, doesn’t matter who.” Adal didn’t have the strength to draw herself up at his look, but fixed him with a stare. “Yes, that includes any captives of Venator’s. See they’re treated fair, the Temple might not bother. I take responsibility for them.”

“To… what end, Domina?”

She almost blew out a breath and swore, and stopped herself. “Been enough killing here today,” she said. “Just keep them alive for now, until we can figure that out.”

“Yes, Domina.” No hesitation from him. She nodded.

Ulysses and Yes Man helped her start towards the edge of the sinkhole, staggering, drunk with pain and exhaustion. Beside her, Rhea was holding her son, wiping his face dry with her stole, and the sight made her stop and look back. “You have a son, centurion. Congratulations. I’ll talk to the Temple about letting you meet him.”

The gladness of his face was there and gone, with fatigue and onlooking eyes. But he saluted again, fist over his heart a moment longer than necessary, before turning back to his waiting officers.

People were standing on the edge of the sinkhole as they helped her along; Marius and Peda, Fen holding Paz, Celsa supported by the younger Limitanei. Seneca and the other of his men, with the sledge, dropped into the pit beside her. “Orders, Domina?”

She kept her head up, letting out a breath. Something in her relaxed; so much death here, yes, but at least, at least…

Adal leaned hard on Ulysses a moment, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. There were voices around her, a dull roar. “Just gotta rest a minute,” she murmured, or tried to. Whatever came out must not have been convincing, because there was a lurch, a shift in gravity. She tried to open her eyes, disoriented, but recognized the feeling of Ulysses holding her, solid and warm.

Adal rested her head on his chest, and let herself drift.


	21. Chapter 21

Ulysses left the ruins when the next shift came on, trying to hide the shake in his hands, the noon sun hot on his arms. Sifting through the rubble after survivors, after bodies, had raked his nerves taut, left thoughts circling that wore tracks in his mind—but he was on the other side of it now, not helpless, not trapped; uninjured and free to walk away and find his own people safe. To rest, knowing there were men alive for his work, who would have otherwise died alone and terrified.

It didn’t help, not as much as he wanted. But he tried to convince himself.

The Temple had set up a mess tent on one of the remaining open spaces overnight, men cycling constantly through. Ulysses let the flow of the leaving shift carry him there, collected a bowl of something mostly broth, and sat to eat mechanically. It was barely food, honestly, whatever the Temple had left in stores watered down and stretched thin, but close enough after a morning of labor.

Ulysses didn’t look up as someone settled across from him, tables filling with men too exhausted to speak. He saw him hesitate, hands wrapped and scraped from digging, and delicately pluck something from his bowl. “Huh. Pretty sure I pulled this out from under a rock today.”

The men nearest him laughed, low and with an edge. He looked up, and Marius studied the scrap of what was probably meat a moment longer before eating it anyway. “Gecko. Maybe a kidney,” he said, struggling to chew.

Ulysses couldn’t quite laugh, but managed, faintly, for his benefit. “Any news from the Temple? Decisions on the captured men?”

Marius glanced at the Order man on the bench next to him, and kept his voice down. “None. They’re refusing to deal. Some two hundred men, and not one is about to move without an order from someone they respect.”

“Such as?”

“Couldn’t say.” Another warning look at the nearest men. “I’ve mostly been on the digging crews, anyway. I don’t think anyone in the Order wants to think about what this place might smell like in a week.” Another tired, ugly laugh from those who could overhear—the sort only heard when mocking death was the only morale left. Ulysses didn’t join in, nor Marius. “Your Courier’s been busy. I overheard something about her organizing a supply caravan, through her robots. The Temple will accept it. That’s my guess, at least, they’re in no position to refuse.”

“She’s meeting with them again?” Ulysses frowned. “Ought to be resting…”

“Who else will? Seems like that Limitanei decanus has done a good job, let’s call it…interpreting the Courier’s intentions to his centurion and the Guard, but there’s calls he can’t be willing to make without her there. You’re the only other one who could stand in for her.” He leaned one arm on the table, gesturing with the bowl in his other hand. “Nice call on joining the work crews, though, word among the men is you shamed a lot of officers into pitching in.”

Ulysses raised an eyebrow. “Among the men. Not briefed on any of this?”

“There’s things in the open, now. Star’s fallen quite a bit, overnight,” Marius said, swishing the dregs of soup around. The men were starting to break up, drifting back to the surrounding tents and barracks, and Marius waited until the benches nearest them were clear. “The Council didn’t like me working with Aquilina behind their backs, and I get the feeling I spent all _her_ trust helping Lucia and Aura, against orders. I’m cut out of the loop. Probably for good. They don’t have any kind of process for my situation yet, but I doubt they’ll crucify me. At least, not literally.”

The last was forced good cheer, and Ulysses watched him as he drained the bowl, but made no move to leave. “Why did you?”

“Help them?” He shrugged, rolling a loose bit of bandage between his thumb and forefinger. “Sucker for a pretty face, I suppose.”

Ulysses watched him fidget. “Any intentions, after this? Going after them?”

“Lucia may well shoot me if I did.” He was toying with the bowl now, rolling it in circles on its bottom edge, the tent around them emptying. “No intentions, not really. Just have superiors that don’t trust me…and, quite honestly, not many who would, out in the world.” Ulysses reached out to pin the bowl flat with a look, and Marius folded his arms, looking off over his shoulder. “Probably safer out there, though. Get a dog to watch my back, don’t dare depend on anyone else.”

He didn’t seem bothered by it, and Ulysses studied him a moment longer—dissembling, as only a good infiltrator would, holding a conversation aloud while monitoring a second, silent one, gaging response and tone and responding appropriately. “Room in the Mojave,” Ulysses said. Marius didn’t look at him. “More than the Limitanei finding new ways there.”

“You know, I could be lying through my teeth,” he said, with a thoughtful, serious look. “How do you know I’m not here on orders, putting a deep cover agent in the Courier’s circle?”

“Because I know whose side you were on,” Ulysses said. The look shifted to something wary. “Lot of talk of brotherhood in the Legion… Think you have a different perspective on it.”

Marius stared a moment longer—and he grinned. “Close.” He tapped a finger on the table as he stood. “So close.”

Ulysses let him go, watching until he was lost in the field of tents, just one more man in black.

***

“Then they’re subject to whatever justice _I_ see fit, if they can’t integrate,” Adal said. Her legs were starting to ache, sitting in the hard conference room chair, and she shifted in her seat. Standing off her shoulder, she saw Seneca frown, and she waved for him to settle. “If you’re just gonna make slaves of them, hand ‘em over. I’ll at least treat ‘em like people, while they serve whatever debts they owe.”

“A risky proposition, madam.” Across from her, Columba nearly had his head in his hands, the priestess next to him sitting primly. More Guards stood along the wall behind him, and another priestess took notes as they spoke. “You would be accepting the parole of men trained for nothing more than committing atrocities at a word.”

Adal shifted again as pain stabbed up her leg. “You’d’ve been trained the same way, decanus, and here you’re being moral at me,” she said, sharper than she intended, and bit her tongue.

“The Limitanei have the personnel and resources to handle any disciplinary issues with these prisoners,” Aelius said beside her, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “The Mojave is not a slaving nation. Nor, I think, are we interested in consorting with one.”

Adal watched him sidelong, eyebrows shooting up as he spoke. Columba and the priestess were conferring in Latin under their breath, and he looked over. She tipped her head to him, silent thanks, and he sat a little straighter.

Columba turned back to them. ”You understand these men are not accepting orders from us, and I doubt they will from you. The only option most have given us is execution.”

Her finger was tapping on the table. “What do they want?”

His face tightened. “Orders. They claim they are are still loyal to the Legion, and will only take orders from Calidus. They saw he survived.”

“Great. Real good. Won’t your head priestess be happy.” Adal moved to stand, and Seneca was quick to pull the chair out from under her. “Speaking of priestesses, your own head healer is annoyed with me being out of bed this long. So am I. If there’s anything else needing my attention today, Ulysses will stand in for me.”

The Guard stood as she left, her people filing out with her. Adal stopped in the hall with a sigh, trying to think. “Aelius. Thanks for the backup.”

“Of course, Domina.” He saluted. “However I may serve.”

“Got word earlier, Camilla and your son were in a group that came back today,” she said, more quietly. “They’re alright, she wants to meet with you. Had them sent to the Limitanei camp, with Sabina.”

He drew up short, taking a breath to speak—and nothing came out, leaving him to salute again, instead.

“I can speak to the Guard about taking custody of the prisoners, sir. See if any progress can be made,” Seneca said, all tact. He looked back at the two behind him— _her_ Limitanei, she couldn’t help thinking. “Remain with the Courier, and—”

“Nah,” she said, cutting him off. “He shouldn’t be standing,” she said, pointing to a somewhat pale Marcus and his splinted leg, “and you…” Varro looked almost panicked, with her attention on him, but seemed largely unhurt. “You earned some rest,” she finished lamely. “Where’s the kid?”

“Fulvius requested another post, and I approved it,” Seneca said. “As you wish, I will see my men rested and prepared to serve you tomorrow, Domina.”

Aelius frowned. “It is safer if one of our men accompanies you, in foreign territory.”

Adal and the others shared a look. Seneca cleared his throat. “If I may speak out of turn, sir, as we return to our camp…”

He was smart enough to listen, Seneca talking quietly as they left. Adal let them get a head start before following them out the doors, getting her bearings as she headed back toward the barracks-come-infirmary. It was coming up on midday, and she saw priestesses resting in the shade beside the tents outside the building, but none paid her any mind. She hesitated at the doors to the building—and turned away.

There was a lot to think about, yet.

The back of the building had fewer tents, with rubble piling up from the dig-out efforts. She couldn’t help but shudder; at some point, they were just going to be digging up corpses, instead of survivors. And it was only going to get worse.

There was a balk of brickwork around the corner of the apartment, still mostly intact. Adal made her way for it, and froze, the end of her cane still in the air.

Aquilina sat on the brickwork, stopped halfway through tapping a cigarette out of a pack. Adal put her cane down, taking the weight off her leg, and Aquilina gestured for her to sit. She didn’t hesitate, and as she settled, Aquilina held out a cigarette. Murmuring thanks, Adal offered her lighter.

Sitting there, staring out over piles of debris and broken Temple buildings, the silence was almost companionable. Adal managed to get halfway down her cigarette, despite her blown-out eardrum making for odd sensations, before saying, “Real friendly.”

“Nothing to lose by it.”

She tried to savor the smoke, but her frustration got the better of her. “’Nothing to lose’, no, ‘course not. Ain’t a person to you, am I. Just a means to an end.”

Aquilina said nothing as she finished her cigarette, holding the butt before her as the smoke curled to nothing and the ember went dark. “By the time the Council would have agreed to get you involved, Venator would have breached our walls, and any rescue from you would be moot.”

“And my son would be dead.”

“Calidus was…a complication,” she said, drawing out another cigarette and holding it unlit between her fingers. “I regret having to manipulate you and your family, Courier. I do. I truly do. You must understand, he was the one who refused direct contact with you.”

Adal watched a team of men dragging a cart to the yard full of rubble, tipping it and scraping it empty with shovels. She waited for them to pull it away before asking, “Why?”

“A question for him, madam,” Aquilina said, her voice quiet. “But he wanted his children and wife put in your care, rather than ours. I wished to honor that. We may have lost, without him breaking with Venator, and it was the least I could do.”

Adal passed her lighter over, got it back with a cigarette. “He thought he’d die.”

“Very likely.”

“And now that he survived? You think he’s gonna pick up where Venator left off?”

A long pause then, as Aquilina held a lungful of smoke and let it out slow. “I was uncertain. I remain so, but Aura…”

_Rhea,_ but no, if she hadn’t told her… “You trust _her?”_

“I think she had no reason to lie, and I can hardly ask her to clarify. But uncertainty remains. You understand, Courier, what uncertainty can become when deciding fates of nations. But he refused to negotiate, flatly. I feared he was concealing a goal that was…counter, to ours.”

Adal turned it over as she drew the smoke down, thinking of the angles, the motives, the course of events. Her stomach sank as a realization struck.

Not _thought_ he’d die. Wanted to.

Adal must have shuddered, made some gesture that caught Aquilina’s eye. “You should be resting, madam. You seem resilient, knowing your history, but it does you no favors to be active right now.”

“I’ll deal,” Adal said. History… “You talked to Ulysses?”

“I’ve had no need to,” she said, without any rancor. “Congratulations, by the way.”

She looked at the priestess sidelong. “You mean that.”

“I do now.” Aquilina flicked ash off her cigarette, and seemed to think a moment before saying, “If he is a changed man, as he says, then I have no absolution to give him. If he is a changed man, let it be for the better, for the benefit of you and the Mojave. He is a stranger to me, now, and I will treat him as one, and let him earn his place as our new homes work together to rebuild.”

Adal watched her a moment. “Some people would call that forgiveness, Priestess.”

She shrugged. “I call it pragmatism.”

The sun had continued to climb as they sat, shadows shortening. She could make out men abandoning the ruins in the heat, passing the next shift, fresh and ready to start. “I got a supply caravan coming in from Vegas,” Adal said, stubbing her cigarette out. “Ain’t a lot, but there’s some surplus dry goods, handful of builders who can help with—” she waved at the ruined Temple grounds. “And some, uh…” she pinched the bridge of her nose, “air, uh, airy-ponics kits like the ones we’re using. Hopefully get you on your feet a little quicker.”

Aquilina was giving her a look, her lips pulled a little too thin. “Airy-ponics.”

Adal sighed. “Ma’am, I ain’t been this tired in _years._ You know what I mean.”

“You’ll put us in your debt so soon?” Aquilina said, tucking the rest of the cigarettes away.

Adal stood, brushing brick dust off herself. “That one? Call it… What’s the word the Followers like. _Humanitarian.”_

“’That one’? You have other plans for repayment, then?”

After everything she’d been through to get here, after being _used._ Adal kept her hands on her cane, counting up all the things she could have called her for, lives and effort, suffering, for pulling their collective ass from the fire. Oh, there was debt, alright, debt that could be taken out in…

…In what? What did Flagstaff have left to salve her own resentment, after so long between a blade and a wall?

Aquilina had stood, as she thought it over, an eyebrow raised. Adal made a face. “Just tryin’ to come up with something that won’t make me a bigger bully than the NCR.” She shook her head. “Nothing paid today, priestess. We get some trade routes established, we talk it over then.”

“Agreed. It can be left to better diplomats than we.” They shook on it, and Aquilina gestured her along. “And as a healer, I must insist you rest. See if your granddaughter has picked more fights. Perhaps check in on your son. We stopped sedating him this morning, but if he’s come around before one of my healers checked in, they might need help getting the chest drain back in.”

“My son,” Adal muttered. For better or for worse, definitely her son. “And Marius?”

They stopped at the barracks door, Aquilina dropping her veil. “I have not seen him, not recently. His loyalties have been…Questioned by the Council. If I find him, I will direct him to you.” Adal tried not to let the worry show as she nodded. More gently, Aquilina said. “A resourceful young man…I think he will come out unscathed, in the end.”

“Right. Yeah,” she said, reaching for the door handle. “Thanks.” Aquilina nodded back, starting rounds through the tents.

Adal let her hand rest there, trying to find the nerve to open it. Grumbling to herself at how stupid she must look, standing there like she’d forgotten how a door worked, she swung it open, and—

“Courier.”

“Hey.” Ulysses raised a hand to her as he approached on the path, and Adal held the door open for him. He followed her in, the apartment vestibule not much cooler than outside, but at least in shade. “What’s going on?”

“Spell you for negotiations,” he said, taking her hand when she offered. “Done enough digging today.”

“I bet,” she said, rubbing at the bandages across his knuckles. Adal looked up at him, trying to catch his eye. “You okay?”

“Be fine, Courier.”

“Oh, be fine, be fine, he says.” Her voice was gentle, and she let go his hand to rest hers against his cheek. He pressed his own over it, closing his eyes a long moment before looking at her. “You’re bone tired, my man, and don’t tell me it’s just moving rocks around.”

“Shouldn’t even be standing,” Ulysses said, with a nod at her, his expression still a little lost. He took a breath, hesitated, and said instead, “Better to keep focus, in the now. Too much to go wrong if we—”

Adal pulled him down for a kiss, and he didn’t resist, drawing her close. “You get to play that card once, my man,” she murmured in his ear. “And only because the last couple days ain’t been the time. We get home, I rather you hand me everything you’re carrying a while, rather’n drag it along yourself. But if there’s anything you need now…”

She felt him sigh against her, before pulling away, just far enough to see her face. His expression had softened, and he said only, “Home.”

“Home.” Adal shrugged a little, still leaning on him to spare her leg. “Nobody’s settled Wolfhorn, yet. You’d said you’d set up there a while.”

“No one?” He brushed a lock of her hair back, fussing with the braid beside her face. “Good homestead. Would think someone claimed it.”

She actually felt herself flush a little. “Mighta, uh… Discouraged folks. You know.” Ulysses raised an eyebrow, and she pushed him away. “Come on, don’t give me that! Just camp there myself now’n then, so people don’t get ideas.”

He actually chuckled, if faintly. “Ideas. And what ideas you’ve had.” Adal muttered something dire under her breath, and he cupped her cheek as he drew her in for a kiss. “Tonight. Discuss your ideas then.”

“Yeah. I’m in for a rest now, though,” she said, and he let her step away. “There’s more to be worked out with the Temple, today. Seneca’s probably looking for you by now…”

“Find him,” he said.

Adal glanced down the apartment hallway. The doors were all alike, warped and peeling wood between stretches of half-flaked paint, but one still caught her eye. A hand rested on her shoulder, and she held it with her own. “I’m…”

Ulysses gave a squeeze. “Go alone?”

An offer, but… Adal shook her head. “I’ll… I don’t know. We’ll find out fast.”

***

“It would be prudent to withdraw to our fortifications on the edge of the Mojave…”

“Threat to the Mojave’s east is dealt with,” Ulysses said. “Priority’s logistics, centurion, not conflict.”

Aelius wavered, and finally tipped his head to Seneca, standing with the other Limitanei in the meeting room. “But in the interest of goodwill, you may retain a few contubernia to assist in the recovery efforts. I leave the selection to you.”

He saluted, and Columba nodded. “I’ll pass the offer along to the Council,” he said, pushing back from the table and gesturing his men to follow. “We can’t turn down the extra hands, I’ll stress that, but there’s no guarantee they’ll want foreign fighters in the city.”

“A trust we hope to earn, Decanus,” Seneca said. “Sirs.” He saluted once again, and followed the Guards out of the room. At his gesture, Aelius’ officers filed out, to pass along orders and prepare for the coming days.

Ulysses leaned on the table as they left. The Council and the Courier might have politics to figure yet, but among the men, faction seemed to have been cast aside for… Not unity, no. But most seemed to remember fighting alongside one another, and were willing to set aside accusations of who betrayed who, at least long enough to dig them from the rubble and set them on their feet.

And the thought was there again, even as he tried to drive it off—Memory of the Divide, people who may have never known the other’s existence, working to make the place whole, old enmity forgiven or forgotten as they rebuilt. He stared at one of the lanterns, lit as the sun lowered. He didn’t want to admit that hope. Knew what happened when a place fell, how Flagstaff, Vegas might—

No. Let them be what the Divide _should_ have been. _Home_ was such a fragile thread to grasp, but…

“Have you spoken with the Imperatrix recently?”

Ulysses leaned back, giving himself a mental shake. Woolgathering again. “Prefer’s Courier, if you won’t use her name.”

Aelius nodded. “The Courier, then. She has taken time to recover, this evening?”

“Met her on her way,” he said. “Should be resting, now.”

“I am pleased to hear,” the centurion said. He stood, leaning with one hand on the table. Ulysses watched him try to unfold a corner of the Temple map, parts of the complex scribbled out and drawn over as work crews had been organized. “If I may ask a favor, sir, would you be willing to pass along a message to her for me?”

“Of course,” Ulysses said. “Should meet with you tomorrow, as well.”

“I would prefer this brought to her privately, if that is possible.” Aelius said, not looking fully at Ulysses. “I wish to pass along my thanks. W—both of my wives—” the corner of paper tore free, folded and unfolded so many times, “—were grateful to be allowed to meet again, and be introduced to…” Ulysses waited. No getting around this one, and Aelius almost grimaced as he stood straighter. “We were pleased to meet our son, sir. Myself included. We request he—and future children born to my men—are not left to the care of a Temple. I recognize this is behavior unsuitable for a Legionary, especially a man of my rank, and leave it to your discretion how this is communicated to her. But she has my gratitude.”

Ulysses nodded and folded his arms, sober. “Very unsuitable, for a Legionary.”

Aelius bowed his head, fractionally.

“Good thing you’re Limitanei.”

He seemed to be having trouble coming up with a reply, so Ulysses went on, “The Courier—Adal—will not object to you keeping the boy. Can hardly send infants to the Temple here anymore.”

“I had wondered,” Aelius said, flicking the scrap of paper away. “I knew our way of life would change, serving as a stationary force instead of a roving army. It was a necessary sacrifice. Most of these changes have not been easy, but I had not realized some would be…welcome.”

Ulysses nodded, slow. It had sounded a pragmatic choice, to serve the Courier, saving face after a defeat. He hadn’t had the time to get the measure of him, it seemed. “A matter to discuss closer to home, centurion. _No_ doubt she will wish to discuss it.”

“Of course. We have more pressing issues.” Aelius followed as he moved for the door. Thoughtfully, almost to himself, Ulysses heard him say, “Closer to home.”

***

Adal sat with her feet propped up on a low table, eyes half closed. The room must have been one of the apartment’s storage closets, cramped and windowless, but it was the only single room they could get.

There was a set of tubes and water-filled jars beside the bed, and she watched a bubble of air working its way through them. Incredible, really. She’d been working with the Followers to make devices for injuries like this, using tech from Big Empty and salvage from Old World hospitals, and here Flagstaff had an elegant solution, made from an armful of cast-offs.

She looked up again, still not ready for that jolt of familiarity, of strangeness, at the sight of Calidus’ face. He slept still, breath rasping in his throat. He had fought as the healers worked, tried to pull the tube out of his chest as he came around, Fen said, as she brought in the chair. They’d kept him unconscious through the night, the only way to keep him still and quiet as he recovered. _Definitely your son,_ she had murmured, and Adal could only put her face in her hands and try to breathe.

Her myriad aches and pains were still making themselves known, and she was starting to regret refusing the Hydra that Fen had offered. Propping her forehead on her hand to shade the bare bulb set into the ceiling, she shifted to get comfortable on the chair. She felt herself start to drift off again, watching that bubble wander through the system, a week of hard going finally having a chance to catch up.

When she woke, Calidus was looking back, eyes just barely open as he searched her face. She said nothing, feeling her heart almost stop, watching him in turn. There were scars on his face, turning his neutral frown harsher than it was. He looked older than he ought, somehow, after so long…

They both stared a long moment, Adal wanting to say everything, to make up years of loss; to say nothing, in fear of what might come of it.

Of who he may have become.

But finally, he let his head fall back, his voice strained and harsh around the burn on his throat. “Knew you would do it.”

She couldn’t laugh, couldn’t smile. “Makes you one of few.”

Calidus still watched her, not lifting his head, as if that motion alone was exhausting. After a moment, he asked, “Aura?”

_Rhea,_ she almost corrected, and stopped. “Gone,” she said. His eyes widened, and he tried to get an elbow under himself. “Left,” Adal clarified, holding out a hand as if she was in any shape to stop him. He stilled. “Left this morning with a group.”

***

The sun had just risen, its light held back behind Flagstaff’s remaining walls. A group was starting to organize in the street, most all of them women. A few still wore remnants of Legion clothes, slave rags or white robes hidden under coats, even a few Guard tunics with armor left behind. Rhea had changed completely, in a pair of much-mended jeans and threadbare jacket, hair fighting the single thick plait she’d tucked into her hood. Standing on the stairs to one of the remaining Temple buildings, son on one hip, she held out the holstered pistol to Adal. “Thank you for this.”

“Keep it,” she said. “You get that and my blessing, Rhea. Hope they take you where you need to be.”

She smiled, but it was wan. Someone in the street behind called for her, and she only half-turned. “I should…”

Adal nodded. She looked at her grandson, dead asleep after the last few days. “You’re always welcome in the Mojave. I ain’t hard to find.”

“I know.” Rhea turned away, then back. “Madam, I…”

“Look after him.” Adal could see Lucia just in earshot, watching the two of them, and Adal ignored her. “Go to your people. Take your time to heal. Hope to see you both again, someday.”

***

“Where?” he rasped.

Adal shook her head. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. But she’s with—” _trustworthy people_ , she wanted to say, but remembered Lucia. “Competent folk,” she finished.

She looked away at his expression, let him lay back down. “Good,” he said at last, voice tight. “Better for both of them.”

Adal hesitated. “For her,” she said.

***

Rhea had sighed, but didn’t move. So softly that Adal almost couldn’t hear, she said, “I can’t look at him. Not without…”

“Well…” Adal dropped her head, trying to pick the right words. “I can see why, ma’am. What you’ve been through… You think you can be fair to him, in light of it? Ain’t saying you can’t,” she added, raising a hand. “I just…We both want what’s best for him.”

Rhea looked down at him, asleep with his head on her chest. “I don’t know.”

Adal waited.

“I want to be _me_ again.”

She held out her hands. The boy barely woke as Rhea passed him over. “This doesn’t make you a bad person,” she said, gently. Rhea wiped her eyes, not looking up. “You go to your people, Rhea. Go heal. Find out who you are, with their help. Your boy will want for nothing, not safety, not family, not love. You come back in a year, two, ten… Or never. Whatever it takes. Hell, come back tomorrow and say this was a mistake, you _will_ leave with him in your arms.”

It took a moment for her to compose herself, and she said through her tears, “And if I never do? What will you tell him?”

Adal had to swallow the lump in her throat, felt her own tears run. “That you loved him so deep, you made the hardest decision I ever saw a woman make.” She reached out, rubbing her shoulder. “But I rather you come and tell him that yourself, someday.”

She couldn’t speak, pulling Adal into an embrace. Adal hugged back as hard as she could, trying not to wake her grandson. When she pulled away, Rhea stroked his hair one last time, and planted one last kiss on his head, resting on Adal’s shoulder.

Lucia took her hand as she stepped back, wiping at her own face. Rhea didn’t look away as she turned, and Adal waited until she was out of sight in the Flagstaff street, before heading back inside.

***

Adal shook her head. “Poor mite cried himself to sleep, but the priestesses say he’ll adapt. Peda and her daughter are looking after him. Down the hall.”

He was looking at her now, trying to process it. “Peda? She’s…”

“Long story,” Adal said.

“He’s safe?”

She folded her arms across her middle. “Would I do anything less for my grandchildren?”

The word left an odd silence after it. He looked away first, and Adal rubbed her nose, pretending she hadn’t seen his composure crack. “Everything’s still a mess out there,” she said, into the quiet. “There’s nowhere to put the kids who’re coming back, and we’re digging people out of the rubble still. We’ve got some of the prisoners digging, too, Legionaries who surrendered. Don’t know what the fuck else to do with them, and most of ‘em aren’t wanting to cooperate.”

Calidus pushed himself halfway up, wincing as he looked down at the tube in his side. “How many surrendered?”

She shrugged. “Couple hundred. Most are Venator’s men, the rest are whatever survivors came in with you. More’n we can feed, after the city’s been cut off so long, but we can’t just let ‘em go. They gave themselves up, so I’ll give ‘em mercy. Execution’s out of the question, even if the Temple thinks it’s safest.” Adal rubbed at her face, not sure how the next would go over. “They say they’re your men now. Saw you lived, some of them, and won’t take orders from anyone else.”

He considered a moment, looking at her, and said, “Help me stand.”

“We’re neither of us in any shape,” Adal said. He had spotted the clean clothes left on the floor beside the bed. “Don’t you dare!” she said, pulling the pillow out from under her legs as she levered herself up. Calidus hesitated, but reached out again as she turned away. “Lay down, for godssakes!” she yelled, whipping the pillow at him. “Fen!” she called, getting the door open. “Fen, can you—oh, don’t you _dare.”_

Calidus paused. He was sitting up with the clean tunic half-on, and was pulling at the bandages holding the tube in his side. Adal shook her cane at him. “You collapse that lung again, let’s see how far you get. Let her take the stupid thing out.”

He kept that same expressionless frown on his face, but let it go. Fen had her veil down when she entered, but took quick stock of the room and started pulling tools from her bag without comment. Adal stepped into the hall and watched out of the corner of her eye rather than crowd, waiting for the _you should really be staying in bed_ lecture and hoping she might get through to him.

It didn’t come. Calidus grimaced as Fen pulled the tube free, quickly putting a suture where it had been, and re-covered it silently. She gestured for Adal to step back, and followed her out, shutting the door behind her. “He needs at least another day with the drain in,” she said, voice low. “Try and convince him before he’s back where he started.”

“You’re the healer,” Adal said. “He’ll respect—”

Fen was shaking her head. “He’s a Legionary, I can’t.”

“He’s my _son,”_ she said, almost hurt. “Fen, in there, that’s… That’s Ches.”

She looked down, veil still hiding her expression. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I don’t speak to the men.”

Adal looked at the door, hearing him move around, the scrape of boots being pulled on. “Did you know?”

A breath, two. “I had a guess,” Fen said. “And I wasn’t going to break your heart with a ‘maybe’, Adal. I couldn’t say anything.”

She watched her a moment, still the picture of a priestess of the Legion. Adal put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed as the door opened, and turned away.

“Where are they?” Calidus was already breathing hard as he looked up and down the apartment hall.

“Well, they’re not exactly in the common room,” she said, taking a step back. Jesus, the top of her head didn’t come to his shoulder. “And hell if I’m carrying you back here, you fall over on the way.”

He looked down at her, and there was a flash of dismay on his face, instantly quashed. “Should get this over with,” he said, voice still rasping.

Adal didn’t move. “What are you going to do?”

He had spotted the door at the end of the corridor, and was making his way towards it with a hand to his side. “Give them orders.”

Fen and Adal shared a look and started after him. “This was your idea,” Fen murmured.

“Oh, hell,” Adal gasped, barely keeping up. “It was his, and I ain’t fit to stop anything right now but _breathing._ ”

The door opened on gold evening light. Adal heard some of the men murmur as they passed through the field of tents, and one priestess on rounds did a double-take before hiking up her robes to run back inside. Calidus watched her go, his gaze stopping on Adal.

Uneasy, she pointed with her cane, taking the lead. The southern quarter of the Temple grounds was a loss, any buildings still standing too unstable to enter. The rest had slumped and broken into the sinkholes, and there were crews still digging through them. Some looked up as they passed, a mix of men in blue and black and the occasional red, all slowing their work as murmurs spread. “Watch your step,” Adal said, gesturing at the broken ground ahead. “Been some cave-ins overnight.”

There were still berms and raised areas running through the sinkholes, with ropes and stakes marking the stable paths. One of the largest pits had guards ringing it, men of the Order and Limitanei both. They came alert as they approached, one of the black-armored, gold trimmed Guard stepping into their path. “That’s far enough. What are you—”

“Official business,” Adal said, trying to stand straight. “Go back to your post.”

The Guard looked like he might stand firm—but bowed his head, stepping aside. Hearing the slap of a priestess’s sandals, Adal glanced over her shoulder, in time to see Aquilina lowering her hand. Adal kept her pace, knowing she would catch up. “Neither of you should be about, Courier.”

“Then stop us,” she said, without any heat. Part of her—the one not concerned with losing face—thought being sent back to bed didn’t sound too bad.

Aquilina didn’t respond until they were nearly at the edge of the pit. “I would rather this was handled sooner than later.”

The sinkhole was in deep shadow with the lowering sun, filled with an easy two hundred men sitting in rows, unarmed, sullen. The ones near the front looked up, slowly, a ripple of low voices spreading through them. Adal felt a shiver go up her back, recognizing the place, the buildings around it, the bloodstains in the churned earth. Her eyes lingered on a near edge, low enough for people to climb up and out, with assistance—and more than one spreading, dark stain on the dirt.

Calidus’ back was to her, looking out over the men. Adal leaned on her cane, with an ache in her bones that was more than injury.

_You think he will share your sentiment?_

He was saying something to one of the wardens, who nodded and slid down a ladder. Calidus’ face was in profile a moment, serious and stern—and so little she could read behind it. She caught a glimpse of motion beside them, and Adal held out a hand to Ulysses, pushing through the onlooking crowd after them. He hesitated to take it, with a flicker of the eyes to Aquilina, but she was facing away, watching Calidus. Adal laced her fingers though his, holding tight, and he squeezed back.

One of the prisoners was climbing out of the pit, a guard ahead and behind. A veteran, even stripped of armor and weapons; he was tall, strong, carried himself well. A glance at the pit showed most of them to be the same. Their spokesman, she guessed, carrying a scrap of red cloth.

Those of them waiting on the path stepped back, making room. “ _Salve_ , sir,” with a salute to Calidus, and a gesture to the prisoners, “we never doubted your survival, and are pleased to see you well.”

Calidus just nodded, and gestured for him to continue. Adal narrowed her eyes at the way he was breathing, and he caught the look, no expression on his face.

“Our allegiance is unshaken, sir. We refused to bow to these traitors to our cause, knowing you are—and were—the only man fit to lead the Legion,” the spokesman went on. Beside Adal, Aquilina shifted her weight. “We ask your forgiveness, for those of us who blindly served Venator. And that we allowed ourselves to be taken captive, but it was only so you would return to a loyal cohort. We accept whatever punishment you think just, as we continue to reclaim the wasteland in Mars’ name.”

He unfolded the cloth as he spoke, revealing a blood-spattered, golden crest, a disk surrounded by a wreath—a token Adal recognized, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as it caught the evening light. She remembered standing over Caesar’s corpse, thinking to take it—a prize, a trophy, a warning—before turning away in disgust.

There was a desperate look in the veteran’s eye, something like fear, as he held it out. “What are your orders, Legate?”

She clenched one hand on her cane, and the other in Ulysses’ grip. _You think he will share your sentiment?_

Calidus took it, holding it on the flat of his hand as he studied it, rubbed away a flake of dried blood with his thumb. He looked out over the men, tense and waiting. Outnumbered by the Temple and Limitanei together, never mind her machines, but if they rose up in the aftermath…

He nodded a little, as if to himself, and the men below let out a collective breath. She could feel her heart breaking. God, she had wanted to trust him, to believe he was still—

Calidus closed his fist on the brooch, the soft gold wreath around the central disk crumpling, kept up the pressure until the whole thing folded. Calidus tossed it to the nearest Guard, who barely caught it. “Melt that down,” he said, quietly, and faced the crowd below.

“I haven’t come here to lead you,” Calidus said. His voice was still hoarse and thin, and Adal could see the effort it took to make it carry, but the entire Temple seemed to have fallen silent to listen. “Because there is nothing left to lead. Caesar’s Legion is no more. It failed here, and deserves to die.”

A few of the prisoners lifted their heads, listening—or baring their throats. Adal felt sick.

Calidus took a few deep breaths, a sweat broken out on his face. “All of you here chose to live. You rejected what the Legion taught, because you know its time is past. But you are all servants, still. You need a leader. The only order I will give you is this: Serve the Temple, or the Courier’s Limitanei. Those of you who may have tribe, go back to them.

“If any of you think you would stand where I do now, to lead another Legion, step up. We’ll end it here.”

Rhea’s voice, almost below her hearing, _He will, priestess,_ and Adal shut her eyes and begged forgiveness for doubting her.

There was silence in the ruins. No man seemed to breathe, and even with Calidus swaying on his feet, not one stood to challenge.

Calidus nodded and turned back for the Temple, fighting to put one foot in front of the other. The crowd parted for him, regardless. 

Adal just stood a moment, breathing, with Ulysses’ hand in hers. “And him?” he asked, quiet.

She watched the group disperse, Aquilina a pace behind Calidus. “I don’t know.”

“Could talk to him,” he said, keeping his voice between the two of them. “Former Legion, might…”

“Maybe,” she said, and had to rest a hand over the ache in her chest. Her son…

A son.

“Maybe,” she said again, giving his hand a squeeze. “There's something I should do, first.”

***

“Waiting for someone?”

Fulvius was standing outside one of the apartment doors, and straightened as she approached. “No, Domina. Standing guard.”

Adal looked up and down the empty hall, around the T-shaped junction from Calidus’ room. “In the middle of a friendly city?”

He swallowed. “Your relatives are high value targets, madam.”

She clasped her hands on top of her cane and waited.

“Miss Celsa said she felt safer with a guard. Mistress Peda allowed it.”

Adal held back a sigh through her nose. “How, exactly, did they say those things.”

Another gulp, and his ears turned red. “That, ah… Miss Celsa asked me to accompany her, this morning. Mistress Peda said I was, in her words, ‘not as nauseating as the other two.’ Her words.”

Oh, this dumb earnest kid trying so hard not to be a Legionary... “Carry on,” she said, and knocked on the door before opening it.

The room was a narrow little slot, with several beds packed in with barely room to walk. Celsa was standing from her seat at the nearest, and Peda stayed where she was at the other end. And Fen…

“Paz, don’t leave papers laying everywhere. Help me with your brother, he’s—”

Both Fen and the boy looked up as Adal pinned the bowl to the floor with her cane, before it could be flung across the room. “So how’s everything?” Adal asked.

Fen knelt more comfortably on the floor, helping Paz gather up scraps of paper. “Fine,” she said, voice brittle.

She looked back at the other two. Peda shook her head faintly. Celsa’s face was carefully neutral, her hands clasped tightly. There was a tug on her duster, and Adal looked down on Paz’s face. “They said me’n the little boy are brother’n sister, which is because we have the same parents, and it’s special? I don’t think it’s special, I bet a lot of people have the same parents. He cries’n throws things’n I’m almost a grownup, we’re not even a little alike.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. And Mistress Peda was telling me about outside the Temple, and I wanna go see it, because I think she made up that there’s whole big places with no stuff in them. Everybody knows there’s buildings everywhere.”

Adal looked up again. There was a definite plea in Peda’s eyes now, and on the floor, Fen was avoiding their gaze, trying to prevent a cracker from being ground to a very fine powder. “Tell you what, ladies,” she said. “I’ll take over babysitting a while, let you…talk.”

“Oh, plenty of talking,” Peda muttered, nodding to Paz. She cleared her throat and said more loudly, “Thanks, cousin.”

_”Méish.”_ Showing off a bit, but it got Fen’s attention as she stood, and Adal picked up her grandson. There was worry in her eyes, and Adal put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay. And if it isn’t, I’ll make it okay. My word.”

Fen didn’t look at her, straightening her robes. “I know,” she said, voice faint.

“Grab your stuff, Paz,” Adal said, opening the door.

She scrambled after her papers and chased a pencil under the bed before following. “I got more crackers for the baby, too, because he got hungry once and cried and cried.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Adal said shortly. Hastus was both heavier than she recalled and refusing to look at her.

“No, it was just really annoying,” Paz said. “Can I skip? Mistress Rosa says it’s too rowdy.”

She tried to hike the boy up higher, wincing. “Skip away, dearling.”

“Where are we going?” from Paz, bouncing along beside.

“Meeting someone. Here.”

Adal leaned on the wall to catch her breath a moment. Ulysses had insisted she wait, long enough to eat something, but it had hardly been a long enough rest—at least, for her. Hopefully not too early for a visit, she thought, before knocking on the door with her cane. “Come in,” a hoarse voice said, and Adal shooed Paz through.

Pushing himself up in bed, Calidus froze, seemed transfixed by the sight of her. Paz barely looked at him, pointing at the jars and tubes beside the bed. “Gross, there’s blood in there! What is it?”

“One of the healers’ tools,” Adal said, sitting hard in the chair. Hastus sat like a lump on her lap, still looking away. “Can you draw quietly a little while?”

“Okay!”

She didn’t look up until she’d gotten her legs propped on the coffee table, and got her grandson settled more comfortably. Calidus was staring at the boy, his expression almost completely flat. Adal gave him a moment, and he faced her, his eyes following a second later. He said nothing, leaning hard against the wall.

She had to look away, and said, “Marius see you at all?”

Calidus had to clear his throat before rasping, “No. I don’t know,” he said, preempting her next question. “He never told me more than he needed. Not even sure he was working with the Temple.”

“Question of the week,” Adal muttered. Another silence, with only Paz’s pencil scratching away. She shifted in her chair. “At first flush, sounds like most of our Legion surrenders are joining the Limitanei. They seem to think you’ll be signing on with them.”

He had been watching Paz with that same non-expression, and slowly turned to her. She let him think, reaching for the bag of crackers Paz had dropped.

“No.”

Adal looked over. He had rested back against the wall, staring at nothing. “No. I want nothing to do with them. Anything that used to be Legion. I’m done. Didn’t even think I’d survive this long.”

It hung like a pall in the air. She busied herself trying to distract Hastus with the crackers, but he was fussing away from her, trying to get them out of the pouch himself. Absently, she tucked a coil of white, baby-fine hair behind his ear and let him do it.

“What about them?” Calidus asked, looking at his son.

“In my care,” she said. “Both of them. Made a promise to keep them safe.”

“And away from me, probably.” It was quiet, bitter. Adal saw how his mouth tightened, wishing he could take it back.

She shook her head. “Never part of it,” she said. “It was her, who got Aquilina on my side. I don’t know what the two of you had, not truly, but I feel you oughta know that.”

He only looked away once it sank in, rubbing his face with his hand. She let him compose himself before going on. “They’re your kids. Me’n Ulysses will take whatever help you have.” Nothing, from him, just looking at his daughter like she were miles away. Adal tried to lean into his line of sight, and said quietly, “You named him. You named a child you mighta been crucified for treating like a son. Changed the course of a war to keep them both safe. Hard to believe you want nothing to do with them now.”

“Safer without me.” His voice was harsher than it had been.

“Oh. Oho, no,” Adal said, wagging a finger. “Oh, I know this one. _Everybody’s_ tried to start the self-pity game with me the last few days, and I ain’t gonna play!” He did look at her then, in honest irritation—and a vast improvement over a blank stare. “They’re safer without you? Safer? You wanted to _protect_ people. I remember that, you wanted to keep your people sa—”

“As a _child_ ,” short and sharp. Calidus stopped with a wince, trying to slow his breathing.

“As a child,” Adal said, quiet, just looking at him. Ulysses, who had refused forgiveness; Aquilina, who could never give it. Rhea, with a shadow in her eyes, calling him a monster in the same breath as kind. And she had still…

She sighed, shaking her head. “No, I don’t know where you been, what you’ve done. I don’t want to. Ignorance might come at cost, I’ve learned that back to front, but I’ll risk it.” Back to that flat, guarded look from him. Adal gave him a moment to speak, but the silence just stretched. “All I care about now is what happens next. You want to prove to me you’re a lost cause? Not much I can do to stop you, but I will fucking try. I fought for enough lost causes. You wanna start over? Take a chance you never thought you’d get?” She tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “I know a thing or two about those, too.”

Impassive still. She searched his face for anything, anything at all. He finally drew a breath to speak—and looked down at his son.

“Ma.” He had gotten restless as they spoke, his snack forgotten, twisting to look around the room. “ _Ma._ ”

Adal stroked his hair back, and he quieted a little, uncertain. “You named him. He’s Hastus, on the Temple’s records,” she said. Calidus looked up, and there was something not quite fear, not quite… But a thought struck her, and she did manage a lopsided grin. “The records. Had you down as older’n you are. Lot of people thought that.”

His expression didn’t change. “I feel it.”

She tried not to let it bear her down, resettling her grandson more comfortably. “Hastus, though, I hardly know a word of Latin. So what does…?”

The apprehension was still there, and as his son wound himself up for another fit, he said, “Pike.” The boy twisted to look at him, and Calidus hesitated. “He was born on the road. Couldn’t name him after anyone, not… But there was a mountain, Pike’s Peak…”

She couldn’t breathe a moment, had to swallow the lump in her throat. “A Walker name.”

“A Walker name.”

“ _No._ Ma!”

Adal sighed as he started squirming in earnest. “God, alright. Your turn,” she said, picking him up under the arms.

Calidus drew back. “I hardly ever…”

“Held him?” Adal rolled her eyes as Pike started kicking his legs. Over his crying, she said, “Well, he knows your voice, that’s one up on me. Take him before I drop him!”

Calidus reached out as he wriggled free, and gathered him up before her grip slipped. His crying stopped abruptly, looking up in surprise, and Calidus sat him on the bed beside him. Pike twisted where he sat, looking back to Adal, then up at his father, lip starting to quiver again.

“Talk to him,” Adal said, glad for the quiet.

“Talk?” he said, indifference giving way to dismay. He didn’t look up, hands still hovering near the boy as if he would leap away in any direction. “And say what?”

Adal shrugged. She realized the other sound that was missing, and turned to look around her chair. Paz was lurking behind her, holding a piece of paper. “Do you want to say hello?”

Paz beckoned her closer, and whispered in her ear, “Is that the big man who lives in a tent?”

“Who?” Adal whispered back, turning to listen with her better ear.

“Him n’the lady with the pretty hair,” she said, holding up her drawing. “The priestess. Mistress Rosa says I dreamed it but I didn’t, I _really_ didn’t. They lived in a tent, and there was another lady. And now the priestess brought the little boy here.”

The drawing was just stick figures, one tall, one with a cloud of curly hair, standing by a triangular shape. There was another, smaller figure off to the side, with straight hair. Adal looked up as she scooted away, and Calidus was watching her. Pike was still frowning, uncertain, but quiet.

She gave him a questioning look. He looked away, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer, but she realized his frown was thought, this time. “Aura had her…almost at year,” he said, slowly. “Merula was her assistant. Helped with them. She was with our healers, but now…”

“I haven’t heard her name,” Adal said, putting the paper down, weighting her next words. “Lot of women went out with Aura. Might have been with them.”

The boy had looked over at Adal as she spoke, and back at Calidus as he started babbling after his mother.

“Quiet. I know,” he said, and Adal looked back to where Paz had gone. She barely heard him murmur, “I miss her too.”

An arm reached around the other side of her chair, to drop a paper in her lap. “That’s you’n him,” she said in a stage whisper. There was a tall stick figure hovering over what might have been a bed, and another mostly overlapping a chair. A D O L had been written in scratchy letters over it. “But I don’t know his name.”

“You should go ask,” Adal said, handing it back.

Paz half-hid behind the drawing. “Mistress Rosa said don’t talk to men.”

She made an effort not to frown, tucking a bit of hair behind the girl’s ear. “I think Mistress Rosa said a lot of things. Go ask. It’s okay, I promise.”

Paz gave her a doubtful look, but sidled over to the bed. Pike was trying to trying to grab the tube sticking out of the side of Calidus’ tunic, and he picked the boy up like he might break, setting him back out of reach. He frowned, and the boy gurgled, making another lunge. They both looked up as Paz sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her feet. “Ave,” she said, almost too quiet to hear, holding the drawing close.

He didn’t seem to breathe a moment, a gentle awe on his face. Pike leaned forward to grab again, and he caught him, holding him up eye-to-eye. “Stop that.” The boy squealed as he was picked up, a happier sound than before, waving his arms. Nonplussed, Calidus set him on his lap, and he chattered to himself with a finger in his mouth.

Paz glanced at Adal, who nodded to both of them. She straightened up, and said again in a small voice, “Ave.” She hid her face behind her paper, barely peeking out over it when he looked at her. “My name’s Passercula, which is for a, a sparrow, n’people call me Paz.”

“Hello, Paz.” He seemed to want to say more, but Adal saw his breath catch.

Another look to Adal, and her eyebrows drew down at her tears, but she turned back when she gestured. “I’m six years old’n in Mistress Rosa’s class. And Mistress Adal said, I ought to ask your name.”

He had to stop, swallow, before he could whisper, “Ches.”

“Ave, dominus Ches,” she said, bobbing her head. Her pencil hovered over the paper a moment, and she muttered, “ _Chuh_ sound,” before starting to write. “Are you from outside the Temple like Mistress Adal?”

“Yes,” he said, and after a hesitation. “I’m her son.” There were tears in his eyes, in hers, as they looked at each other, and they ran as he looked down at his children. “And I’m your da,” he whispered, and the words seemed all at once to be terrifying and reverent. “I’m your da. And I’m going to look after you.”

***

“You’re feeling ready to walk?”

“A ways,” Adal said. She held still as Ulysses tied off the braid beside her face, and sighed. “I’m gettin’ old, my man.”

“Never.” She didn’t open her eyes as he leaned in for a kiss, cupping her face a moment before he turned away. “Old as you feel.”

“And I _feel_ old,” she said to his back. They had been moved into what might have been an office once, the building with her old room collapsed. Morning sun streamed through the windows, the cramped space warming quickly. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she finished tightening the straps on her leg brace. “I’m someone’s gramma now.”

“Two someones.” Next to the door, he threw the strap of his pack over his head, turning back with hers in hand. “Make you twice as old?”

“Oh, and you?” she said, taking it from him. “Grandpa. Pops. Yeye. Abuelo.” She snapped her fingers and pointed. “‘Buelo ‘Lysses, how’s that sound?”

He gave her a warning look. “ _They_ might call me that. You…”

“Spoilsport,” she said. “I mean, I could call you…”

He looked back at her, considering… and slowly shook his head. “Not yet,” he said, offering her a hand up. “Not sure I’m that person anymore. Have any right to use a name given, in good faith…”

Adal let him pull her to her feet, held his hand a moment longer than needed, and gave it a squeeze as he stared off into space. “You be who you need, my man. I got your back.”

He looked as tired as she felt, but smiled faintly, pulling her close. Adal rested her head on his shoulder, arms around his waist. He ran a hand up the back of her neck, working his fingers into her hair. She sighed, and murmured into his neck, “We’re gonna miss Peda if you keep that up.”

“Mm.” A kiss on the soft spot between her jaw and her neck, and he pulled gently away. “Should get you there, then.”

The day was promising to be bright and hot, and the Temple grounds were already full of people. Days on, most of the ruins had been cleared, and were empty but for a few of the Order passing through. Adal tugged at Ulysses’ hand at her elbow, steering him to another street down. Following the sound of people, they came around a building to the chaos of a caravan being organized. A handful of civilians wandered through it, traders and Flagstaff folk interested in seeing Vegas, and a few knots of Limitanei stood around, waiting to escort the group. A couple Securitrons had been allowed back into the city, and one spotted them approaching, weaving around a brahmin being harnessed. “Ma’am! Am I glad to see you up and about.”

“Good to see you too,” she said, and Yes Man fell in to roll along beside them. “Everything good?”

“The caravan is almost ready to depart!” he said. “And so far, altercations between city personnel and your relatives have been prevented.”

“God.” Adal sped up, taking a couple steps to get the rhythm right with her cane. “Peda!” she yelled at a cluster of people in civilian clothes, a tense gap between them and some of the onlooking Order. “You kill anyone now and slow us down, I’ll haunt you ‘til you get born again!”

Peda pushed her way to the front of the group, scowling. “You ain’t dead yet, old lady.”

Adal stabbed her cane at her and crowed, _”Ain’t!”_

Peda narrowed her eyes as she hit talking distance. “You’re a bad influence,” she said, but without any heat. “That’s why I’m heading back, tell everyone how you turned out.”

“Oh, coming from you,” Adal said, rolling her eyes. She sobered as she looked back at Peda. “Really headed for Crossroads?”

“Or as far as we can get,” she said, grin fading. “Worked the years out, last night. Supposing there’s people left to be there, this summer…”

Something rose in her chest, a feeling she didn’t dare name. “Yeah… Would be, huh.”

Peda nodded. Fen had stepped up beside her, robe traded for a plain brown dress. Celsa knelt behind her, was watching them as she adjusted the straps on a backpack. Peda looked back at them both. “We’d have you along. Could use the help, with the tenderfoots we’ve got.”

Ulysses had stepped up beside her, resting a hand on the small of her back. Adal didn’t quite smile. “Walker wouldn’t want me, I’m a townie now,” she said. “Head townie, even.”

“What cousin of mine…?” Peda said, shaking her head. She saw Adal looking at the others in the group. “Had a few folks come out of the woodwork,” she said, gesturing. Adal searched faces, and they looked back with awe, less than a dozen men and women with dark hair and bronze skin—or might have had a parent who did. “Nobody close,” Peda said, hushed. “Mostly kids.”

“There were songs, I remember,” one of the men said, dropping his eyes when she looked at him. “My mother was a priestess here. She managed to…”

A few of the others were nodding. “Tai. Out of Lin and Kear,” one of the oldest women said, holding out her hand

Adal took it, murmured the name back. A few more stepped forward to introduce themselves, a couple with Walker names, most without, until— “Rose, out of Mari and Yu.”

Adal held her hand a moment longer. “You had an older brother, named Sen.”

She smiled, or tried to. “I don’t remember him, not well. I was too young.”

“He was a brave man. And kind,” Adal said, wiping her face. “Peda knew him. She’ll tell you about him.”

“Plan to,” Peda said. She cleared her throat, indicating the last person there. “And we have, uh…”

“A diplomatic envoy?” Adal said, looking Fulvius up and down. He had traded out his Limitanei uniform for unremarkable civilian clothes. “You clear this with your boss?”

“Madam. Seneca knew I was mostly loyal to the Limitanei due to…Lack of options.” He flushed a little, put on the spot, and Celsa patted him discreetly on the arm. “He agrees I might serve better forging ties with the Walker. That while the Limitanei are more tolerant of _some_ things, any group born of the Legion is…a risk, to me yet. Had circumstances been different, Columba might have offered me a post here.”

Ulysses touched her back again as she frowned, murmured, “Tell you later.”

“Huh. Well,” she said. “Much as I hate to lose you, kid, I’m glad to know I’m putting my kin in good hands.”

He flushed more deeply at the praise, and aborted a salute halfway through. “It is my honor, Domina. I hope to return, in time.”

“I look forward to it.” She held out her hand, giving it a firm shake. More of the caravan behind them was getting pulling together, and she looked to Fen and Peda. “Don’t wanna keep you too long, while there’s sun…”

“Yeah.” Peda made a face, then threw her arms around her, holding tight. “You look after yourself, gramma. If I come all the way back to the Mojave to find you bit it, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Horrible old woman,” Adal said, giving as good as she got. “Come back an Elder or not at all, boss.”

Peda let go, smacking her on the shoulder hard enough to make her wince. Fen was next, and Adal embraced her more gently. “You be safe out there.” And as she pulled away, “Glad you decided to go. Proud of you.”

There was a worried look in her eye, but Fen sighed, forcing a smile. “I’ve been here too long,” she said, voice soft. “I look forward to being out in the world again, even if it’s…” She waved a hand. 

“It’s a lot. I know,” she said, hands still on her shoulders. “You’ll take to it again, I know you will. Leave this place behind, get to breathing good air. Sing something nice for me.” She did smile then, and stepped back as Celsa approached. “And you, miss. Ready to see the world?”

“Of course, madam.” Celsa had pulled the backpack on, still fussing with the straps. She stopped as Adal watched, self-consciously folding her hands. “I’ve always wondered what was outside the city. And I think… The Order holds little for me.” Her voice was soft, and she seemed to glance around for listeners. “There’s talk of change, among the priestesses, but I think it will not come fast enough. I’ve heard too much now, about what the rest of the world can be like. And the people that come from it.” This, looking Adal in the eye. “I would like to be one of them.”

She had to sniff as she pulled her in for a hug. “You’ll do your ma proud, little cousin.” She looked to the rest of the group, packs on, ready to go. “Walk well. All of you.”

Peda was saying something gruff and quiet to Ulysses, and let go of his hand. She nodded to her, adjusting the sling of her rifle. “Walk well, Adal.” She turned away and gestured for the group to follow. They rounded the caravan, heading north, and Adal put a hand to her chest, eyes closed as Peda started calling pace.

Ulysses rested a hand on hers, holding her cane. “They’ll make it,” he said, and she could only nod.

“You know, I _hate_ to interrupt, but…”

“I know you do. Gotta keep moving,” she said. Yes Man pulled up alongside again as she started to walk. “They agree to keeping the other unit here?”

“It took some convincing, but yes!” he said, “On the condition that your ambassador will not give a Securitron…Martial directives. You know, we _could_ just leave the robot here, to remove human error…”

She shared a sideways glance with Ulysses. “Rather there’s a human opinion to go with it,” she said. “It’s a communication measure, is all. Interim ambassador!” she called to someone near the head of the caravan. “Came to see us off?”

“Of course, Domina,” Seneca said, saluting. “I would be remiss not to. Though it appears the caravan is waiting on you.”

“They c’n wait, I’m old and walk slow,” she said. The two remaining men from is squad stood with him. “You boys don’t get bored and get into trouble out here. Make me look good, right?”

They saluted, Varro mumbling something. Marcus elbowed him behind Seneca’s back, and said, “Of course, Domina. We live to serve.”

She nodded to him. “Soon as I’m back in the Mojave, we can get started working out these trade issues,” she said to Seneca. “Rather nail some of this nonsense down now, before it all gets snarled beyond hope.”

“I look forward to hearing from you, Domina. I will do my best to manage in your absence.”

“You done alright so far,” she said. “I’ve known you for, what, a week? Two?”

“And what weeks they’ve been!” He saluted, and bowed as he stepped away. “Do not let me stall you further, madam. You have a long journey ahead yet.”

She nodded to him, and to the trader waiting near the lead cart. “Mrs. Correa, glad we could do business again.”

“We’ll call it ‘again’ when I get paid for the first time, ma’am,” she said, almost playful. “Front cart’s been set up for passengers, do you need a hand up?”

She glanced over her shoulder, at Ulysses still talking with Seneca. “If you’d be so…” Someone had just leaned back around the cart, built up tall with a shade over it. “Actually, I’ll manage. I’ll be on shortly.”

Correa shrugged and headed back toward the front, the brahmin lowing impatiently. Feeling for her rifle sling, Adal stepped around the cart—and found Aquilina repacking her doctor's bag on top of the cart's tire, eyebrows raised. There was a hiss beside them, and she tensed, looking towards the apartment complex facing the street.

A man stood in the gap between buildings, using the shadows for cover, in jeans and a loose jacket. It took her a moment to recognize Marius at the distance, hands in his pockets, his face sober and reserved.

He made no move to approach, and held up a hand as she took a step forward. With a glance aside, he reached into his jacket, as if for a weapon, and Adal froze—god, why this, why now, she couldn’t draw on—

A furry head poked out of his jacket, one ear half pricked, the other still floppy, panting happily. She looked from it to Marius, who put a finger to his lips, grinning.

“I get the feeling our ex-consul was handed a very official-looking requisition notice.”

Adal glanced over at Aquilina, leaning on the cart, then to the apartment. Marius had ducked out of sight, and she hesitated to turn away. “Where’s he going?”

“Who?” She had her veil up, a doctor’s bag still open. Adal looked sharply at her—and she smiled. “Better I don’t know, Courier. I would hate to lie to the Council.”

Adal pursed her lips, but nodded. “He still working for you?”

“No, I think not.” She reached down to finish rearranging the bag’s contents, and snapped it shut. “With my blessing, however. I would rather the Order not be filled with men coerced to serve us. The rest of the priestesses will come around to the thought.”

She watched her a moment, leaning on her cane. “You know, I’m still pissed. But thank you.”

“You have a way with words.”

“People tell me that.”

Another, slightly impish smile. “We will be exchanging them shortly enough, as we rebuild our homes. I look forward to it.” Aquilina picked up her bag. “Don’t let your son overdo things, but he should walk when he feels he can. You, on the other hand, should be resting.”

“I’ll get to it,” Adal said. Aquilina nodded and dropped her veil. She only got a step away before Adal said, “You regret any of this, Priestess?”

She slowed, stopped. “These last few days? Less, I think, than the alternatives,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “But would that I could have brought you here with less bad blood. One woman to another.”

Adal sighed. “I…understand why you done what you did. Can’t say I wouldn’t have done similar in your place.”

“But still pissed.”

She tipped her head to her. “You know it, ma’am.”

Aquilina laughed, her voice low and full. “Look after Paz, madam. I feel she has been happier with you for three days than any year at this Temple.”

“You know I will,” she said, taking her hand briefly, and Aquilina turned back for the Temple. Adal watched her go, thinking…She wasn’t sure what.

“Something wrong?”

Adal glanced back at Ulysses. He was looking past her down the road, where Aquilina had paused, watching him. She gave him a staid nod, before continuing on her way. “Just a goodbye,” Adal said. He seemed reluctant to turn away, and she said, “If you want a moment…”

A pause—but he shook his head. “No. Won’t force my company.” He gestured back to the cart, but wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Waiting on you.”

Ulysses gave her a hand up and into the cart before following. Two women sat across from them, both in similar white skirts. Sabina gave her a little nod, and next to her Camilla, a shorter, paler woman, gave her a shy smile. Between them sat a boy about Pike’s age, with a scar on his lip that gave him a wry expression.

And on the floor, closer to the front…

“That’s the boy who took my doll, n’that’s me giving him a shove. I pushed him _right_ over!”

“Very good,” Ches said. There was still a distinct rasp to his voice, that would probably never go away. Pike sat on his crossed legs, and Paz was stretched out on the padded crates that made for seats. “What happened next?”

She was already scribbling furiously. ”Then, I took my doll back, and…”

He noticed her watching, returning Adal’s gaze. His expression didn’t change, a sober, neutral frown. She smiled anyway, gently, and he only bowed his head a little before looking back at Paz’s drawing.

The cart lurched, taking a moment to get up momentum before it stabilized. The bead hanging by Adal’s face bumped at her cheek, and she felt at it, looking back at Ulysses. He was watching her, in turn, and smiled when she met his gaze.

So she held on to him, and he to her. And together, they went home.


	22. Epilogue

Adal chewed at the end of her pen, thinking through the next sentence. _All Order of Mars personnel are to go unarmed on the Strip, and are subject to Securitron peacekeeping (Section 3a.) Disputes between NCR personnel (Section 2b) and Order of Mars personnel (Section ~~2b~~ 2a) ~~will be~~ are to be mediated by a New Vegas artibrator—_

She sighed, scribbling all of it out. “Clerk?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

Adal passed the paper down to floor height. “File this under ‘D’ for ‘dumb’.”

Paz giggled, laying half under her desk, surrounded by a scattering of crayons and cast-off papers. “’D’ for ‘drawing’!”

“That too,” Adal said, resting her chin on her hand. Wolfhorn had grown, over the last year. She and Ulysses had built off the old farmhouse, first making room for the kids, quickly followed by space for her steadily growing piles of paperwork. And a desk. She ran a finger over a gouge in the wood. It had shown up one day, after a trip to New Vegas proper, without a word from Ulysses, and she suspected he hadn’t been the one behind it.

Looking out the window, Ulysses was kneeling next to the well, trying to loosen part of the spout. Pike toddled up, reaching to help, a shaggy brown-and-black dog sniffing after him. Even from inside, Adal heard him squeal as it started to snuffle at his neck. So Marius had turned up, after all. Ches stepped into view as his son tried to squirm away, scooping him up and setting him on his shoulders. A word or two with a chagrined-looking Ulysses, and they traded places.

She watched as he knelt, and carefully moved Pike’s hand off his eye before wrenching on the spigot. He had claimed on old, abandoned shack to their south, tucked up against the cliffs. A small place, defensible, not that anyone had reason to notice him there. Rebuilding had been slow, difficult work. A year, and she could count on one hand the times she’d seen him smile.

But when he did, he was like a man transformed. And more often than not, it had been for love and pride of his children.

There was a tug on her duster, and Adal looked down, chin still in her hand. Paz was staring back up at her, laying on the floor. “Are they done working? Da said he’d help me string my bow again n’I could practice archering.”

“Archery,” Adal corrected. She glanced out the window again. The spigot seemed well and truly stuck. “Can your uncle give you a hand?”

She rolled her pencil on the floor. “He says he’s on a secret mission right now and can’t.”

“Mm-hmm.” Adal pushed her chair back, left her cane leaning against the desk. “Secret, my entire…ear. Find your bow, dearling, I need to stretch anyway. And pick up this mess!” she added, as Paz tried to bolt.

She made it out without slipping on a crayon, and stood in the doorway as Paz piled up her drawings and chased after drawing utensils. Ulysses was out of sight, probably gone after a tool. Ches leaned against the side of the well, Pike still on his shoulders, reaching down to scratch Marius’ dog behind the ears. Adal narrowed her eyes, she could never remember the stupid thing’s name. Not Latin, he’d said, but it had sounded a lot like Latin to her.

Paz charged past, yelling something about her bow. Looking around the rest of the ranch, Marius was nowhere in sight. He came and went on his own whims, sometimes cool and breezy and just staying the night, but occasionally wounded, sometimes sitting up at night to listen at the window and keep a weapon in hand. Adal asked, and in the same breath tried not to press him, tried not to bury him with her worry, but… There was only so much he would say before that light went out of his eyes, and the defenses went up.

She kept their door open to him, regardless. She’d heard them, her sons and husband, just sitting, talking, the rare nights all three were at Wolfhorn. Whatever they discussed was for them to know, but Ulysses, at least, always seemed better for it.

Things were still better than she had hoped. Her family—her family! Just thinking the word still made her heart feel light—was adjusting to their new lives, even if progress was slow. Even Vegas and her slice of the Mojave had started to normalize, the communities there growing more secure, more stable; trade with east and west alike was thriving, the city slowly becoming a regional hub. It had taken work, hard work to mediate and defend what was theirs, late nights poring over policy and discussing options with Ulysses, but every hour was worth the progress.

Everything else was growing and thriving, but it was this humble place that felt like home. Adal shut her eyes and breathed a moment. The bighorner herd was coming in for the evening, trading their forage for the safety of Wolfhorn’s fences, and she could smell their musk-and-hay scent on the breeze. Even the water from the well had a scent, cool and gray, almost drowned out the delicate fragrance from the broc planter. The desert was quiet, but for the animals and the creak of the windmill pump—except…

She opened her eyes. Ches had straightened, and Ulysses had paused, coming back from the tool shed. Both looked at the highway to the east, the lowering sun painting everything in orange and gold. The low, steady song faded, group of people coming to a halt on the road.

There were dozens of them, staring up at her, all in hoods of leather and foraged cloth. At their head, Marius stood alongside a woman in a dirt-colored cloak, leaning on a heavy wooden staff, a rifle slung at her side.

There was a breathless moment, where only the wind blew.

Peda lifted her Elder’s cudgel and gave a cry. The Walker behind her surged forward.

And Adal laughed, tears in her eyes, and went to greet her family.


End file.
